Fragments of Forever
by Blitzdrake
Summary: After a childhood spent trying to get by between deaths, Kenny finally found something to live for. A boy who promised him forever before sealing it with a kiss. If only the reaper had cared to listen. A teenage Kenny/Butters romance and tragedy.
1. Prologue: Chasing You

**Author's Note:** Well this should be an interesting project. Started as a vague idea for Creative Writing, though I had to "edit" out the South Park for the assignment I turned in. I was so disgruntled I turned around and wrote it all back in to a private copy. It was supposed to be a one-shot but once I started "re-Sparking" it, the bloody thing started swelling into something a bit out of kilter with a single submission. It's the first attempt I've made at first person submission which is possibly why it was so hard to predict its size. It strays from my comfort zone of all that is sweet and fluffy, but hopefully there's still enough in there for it to be enjoyable. 

**Warnings:** Strong language at times, character death and attempted suicide. Not a particularly happy story at later points. I've arranged the prologue to give you what hints you need as to exactly what character death to expect so read it and let that help you determine whether this will story will be along the lines of what you could enjoy. As stated in the summary the focus is entirely Kenny/Butters, beyond that expect a hint of Style. 

**Disclaimer: **I do not own South Park or any of its charismatic characters; they belong to Matt Stone and Trey Parker.

"Time doesn't always heal; it just breathes and swallows memories like the seasons change – sending showers; beating flowers into the mud. And nothing is forever in this place. Nothing but the way my heart fits in your hands; the held breath of hope;"~Author Unknown 

FoF Prologue: Chasing you 

Death is near; he hunts the very city street I stand on. He's probably lurking and slipping through the same crowd of people I'm so carefully scrutinizing. Don't ask me how I know for sure. It's not like there's a big neon sign saying, "Death is coming." Yet if you've spent as much time around that dread specter as I have, you start to notice the little hints he likes to drop when his hand draws close. Like right now, how there's a sudden coldness in the air in spite of the summer season.

My hands react first, before I even register the reason they start to quiver. Suddenly I find it surprising that my breath isn't coming out in foggy tendrils. Then my mind reasserts and I take in the people walking swiftly by in wife-beaters and shorts. Even my body hasn't completely adjusted to the sudden chill, a bead of sweat still tracks its way from the line where dirty blonde hair meets pale skin. It slides down my brow to hide under my chin, escaping the glaring sun above. In spite of all this, I still feel the cold, not on my skin, but beneath it. Oh yeah, Death is close.

My hands move to rub my arms, but I stop them; I would look ridiculous fending off a shiver in the middle of June. With effort I make my hands go back to my side and rest on the brick wall I'm leaning against. I don't want anyone's attention right now.

I try to make myself invisible while I watch the people pass; it's not that hard to do, I blend in with the riff raff in this part of the city. This isn't entirely by accident; I cased this area yesterday before I stole the faded torn jeans and orange shirt I now wear. Don't ask me why I picked orange, old habit I guess. The clothes look big on me, but then again, I'm not exactly one of those filled out guys, so everything looks big on me. Not to say I'm small, I'm actually above average in height, hovering around six feet. I'm just on the skinny side. A nice person would say thin or lithe, an asshole would say, starved. Actually an asshole would say I look like a poor ass pop-tart, white bread, and mayonnaise eating piece of trailer trash that's probably never had real meal in his life. What can I say; I was once friends with a very fat and long-winded asshole. He had a lot to say about my life.

The memory doesn't really sting much; I'm not that poor or hungry anymore. Well I'm still poor, but I've reached a point where it doesn't really matter. You don't exactly get to take it with you when you die after all. Now if I really need something I just take it, like I did my current outfit. It's not like I'm usually alive long enough to deal with consequences.

Someone tosses me a look; a passing girl who's eyeing me with a speculative glance. I guess even this thin I can still pass for an attractive guy, that eighteen year old, devil-may-care, rebel look turns quite a few heads. Sometimes I'm afraid I'll be stuck looking this way forever, I haven't changed in years, not since I took matters into my own hands. Those hands now rub unobtrusively against blemish and scar free wrists. It's true what they say, be very careful about accepting gifts, especially from people related to Satan. With a mental smack, I stop that train of thought and still my hands again. Like I said I don't need the attention, a pity staying perfectly hasn't stopped people from checking me out.

Of course it isn't all bad that people can't seem to get enough of looking at me, I've used that to get what I want occasionally. If you knew me when I was younger you'd find it hard to match that kid to the guy flirting or openly abusing his charms for clothes or a free meal. Hard to believe I used to hide it all in parkas and hooded sweatshirts when I was little. Since leaving South Park and those days behind I've certainly earned my fair share of admirers, it must be the sapphire blue eyes and golden brown hair. Everyone's a sucker for blue-eyed blondes, I know I certainly was.

I register the admiring look from the girl, but I don't return the favor. I don't really need anything right now. Plus she's not my type and I'm very, very particular about my type. It's not exactly a very common variety either; you could say it's a one-of-a-kind. The Leopold Butters Stotch kind actually. No one else I've met affects me like he did. It's how his tiny pink lips brought a warm heat to my face even when locked in a perpetually innocent smile. It's that rare shade of pale blue in his eyes, like a thin sheet of white frost over a dark lake. Eyes that seem bottomless, with one look you find yourself swimming in their depths for hours on end, trapped under their frozen icy surface. I could lose track of the time just thinking about that eternally cheerful face. But I don't have time for daydreams right now. I have to focus, I'll see him soon enough. At least I will if my luck holds out. I return to examining the crowd of people, somewhere in that mob is what I need so desperately. I have some reassurance that the moment's getting closer, another of Death's hints just dropped.

The colors that move by, a virtual rainbow of clothing adorning the stream of humanity before me fade to dark echoes of their former vibrant shades. Reflexively even after all these times, I look up to the empty sky. No cloud have obscured the glaring sun. No one else has stopped to pause and squint in response to a sudden dimming of the light. All of this just proves that I am right. It's not just my eager imagination, it's almost time.

Death is practically here now, perhaps in the shadows of this very building, maybe about to turn that corner, or behind the cold eyes of the business man who just walked by. I don't know for sure who or where he is, even with all of our intimate acquaintance. I've never met the collector of souls; I've just learned his calling cards.

Finally I can still my hands no longer and with haste my right flashes to my pocket to retrieve the photograph. A small boy stares at me solemnly, dark hair, light eyes, pale skin, its hard to tell more than that; the photograph seems like it was made at a carnival, one of those old timey pictures you pay 20 bucks for just so you can get the damn thing in black and white. He's young, maybe third grade, but he looks older, somehow the entire picture looks wrong, and not just because of its old style. It's the face that throws the viewer off; it's so serious, devoid of expression. Hard to imagine you can take a picture of a kid that isn't smiling or frowning. Maybe if it was for a family album, but he's not decked out in fancy clothes for an adoring mother; he's in a small t-shirt, hair still messy, staring out at me in dull consideration, frozen for the camera man. A mug shot would have more emotion. The style doesn't really surprise me; I'm used to it by now. No one in these pictures I'm given ever smiles for the camera, if a camera was even used to take them. Considering the source of the photographs I receive, I have serious doubts.

In front of me a woman walks by talking animatedly into her cell-phone. She is completely oblivious to the world around her, yelling loudly and obnoxiously into the small plastic device into her hand. It's annoying, downright rude actually how loud she is, but that's not what caught my attention. Her other hand is clutched lightly by a small child walking beside. This could be him; I try to restrain the excitement. Not yet, not till I'm sure. I can't tell with his face down, his eyes hunting the sidewalk for a distraction. I try not to be obvious as I try to get a better view of the child. I don't want people to think I'm a pervert but I have to know. He looks the right age maybe eight or nine. With a start the boy spots something on the sidewalk and reaches down, his hand slipping smoothly from the woman's fingers. A copper penny is snatched up eagerly. He looks up with pride to show her, a treasure for the woman, his mother I assume. The boy's face is now easily visible and again my eyes track to the photograph and back. Lucky me. It's a perfect match.

I flip the picture over and in elegant hand writing the current date is written, along with a specific time and location. I know the place, it's nearby. I scouted it out yesterday when I picked this spot. A quick glance at the nearest clock reassures me that I still have two minutes to go. As if all the little tell-tale signs from the Reaper weren't reassurance enough. Still I relax a little at the confirmation that everything's going the way it should. Once again the photograph is on the money, not that they have ever been wrong.

Stealthily I crumple the picture, before discreetly tossing it into a trashcan. I step away from the wall and join the swell of humanity. Sometimes I forget to get rid of the pictures and when people find them later they ask dangerous questions. I might as well spare myself the media frenzy, the incompetent detectives, and constant news coverage that follows finding something like that. Last time they found one, people were looking over their shoulder for months afterwards. I prefer them distracted and carefree; it makes things so much easier for me. Ultimately it doesn't really matter if I have the photograph anyway; I have the where, when, and who now. The how will be made clear soon enough and I stopped caring about the why a long, long time ago.

I adjust my step, inching closer to the two figures that have become the only distinct faces I care to identify in the blurry sea of humanity swimming past us. We are a trio now, locked in pace and rhythm, the two of them never realizing they'd acquired an orange clad shadow.

The woman never noticed the boy's penny and with a look of loss he places it in his pocket. He casts his eyes downward again to the ground before continuing to walk beside her. He's too disappointed to bother reclaiming her hand and she's too distracted by her shouting match with the person on the phone to notice. I notice though, I have to resist the urge to grind my teeth, even if this makes it all easier for me. Sometimes people can be really stupid; they make it way to easy for Death.

The sidewalk ends in a river of black asphalt and the woman stops walking, responding to the command from the red glowing hand on the other side of the street. The boy never bothers to look up. His eyes still search the ground for something that will earn him that desperately craved attention. He just keeps right on walking into the intersection. Green lights flash, an engine roars awake, and all too soon the moment is upon the three of us. Like I said, the how becomes elementary quickly enough.

It's come down to the seconds now but like always I have the advantage. I was expecting it. With eyes still locked on the small figure, I shoulder past the chatty mother. I may have left a bruise on her when I pushed her aside; I wasn't exactly worried about being gentle. Frankly the bitch could stand being roughed up a little; it might help her remember what really matters next time. She has no idea how very lucky she was to have me here.

Thigh muscles clench. Hips rotate the torso forward. Hands move backward to brace my weight. Feet grip the sidewalk for traction. My body has prepared itself for the leap by instinct with no actual thought on my part. Then an explosion of adrenaline hits my system, making time seem to slow compared to the reactions of my body. The knees straighten so quickly I can hear the popping sound of bone leaving socket. My ankles flex and my feet relinquish their grip on the ground. My arms shoot forward, palms flattened. My eyes lock on the small target my hands are now aimed at. The boy's weight is nothing compared to my momentum. When we collide he virtually flies the few feet that remain between him and the other sidewalk. There's a sharp impact as my body hits the street, but its inconsequential compared to the wall of force that hits me from the side a second after.

As my body shuts down, I'm grateful that feeling is the first of the senses to go. The half second of overwhelming pain was more than enough; I welcome the numbness spreading up my body now. Interestingly enough the other senses grow deeper before they fail. Oil soaked tar, burned rubber, and blood all mingle strongly, the scents I will carry with me to the grave this trip. Slamming car doors, loud honks, gasps, and shrieks, these are the echo's that will chase me down the long dark tunnel towards that blinding light. I've closed my eyes, they'll go soon anyway and I could tell you what's going to happen next without even looking at the scene around me.

Nearby a woman will be clutching her child in desperation, using her hands to reassure her of his safety as streams of hysterical tears blur her vision. Around the intersection people have stopped to stare and point. Some will scream, someone will call 911, and every single passerby is recording the details in their mind with the intensity of a reporter, already planning out what they'll tell their friends later. The boy is torn between looking at his trembling mother and staring at the broken figure on the street, possibly with shock, possibly with gratitude.

If it's gratitude it's misplaced. This wasn't for him or his bitch of a mother, or anyone else here. Tomorrow the papers will probably talk about the brave kid on Cherry Street and there will be a posthumous award or gaudy medal. 'Hero' will be printed in huge bold letters on the headlines. The irony is so rich I bet Damien and Satan are shaking the walls of Hell with laughter. I'm not a hero, never will be, never want to be. Heroes help the needy, sacrifice for a greater good and all that pompous crap. I can tell you honestly; this wasn't for anybodies good but my own. If that picture had been of a convicted killer, I'd have pushed him out of the way with the same intensity, the same desperation. The only thing that would have changed was I'd probably have needed a running start to move the extra weight. It's not about the victim; it's about the death. This was about stealing that precious moment from him and fulfilling my aching need for an 'acceptable' release from this binding mortal coil.

By now you've probably realized I'm not really interested in living anymore. I hope no one feels sad about this. They wouldn't want to be down here either, not if they had an angel by the name of Leopold Stotch looking for them up at the gates of Heaven. I'd stick around and explain that to all these horrified people around my broken body, but I don't have that kind of time. I hate to keep him waiting. Impatient as I am though, I'm not at the gates yet, there's still the usual routine to go through first. That long dark tunnel I mentioned earlier, voices of long dead relatives, life-story, and all that theatrical crap.

I don't know how they got the details of death right, but all that junk they feed you in movies and stories is, if you'll forgive the bad pun, 'dead on.' You have to deal with all that crap every time you die, even the insanely long part where your life flashes by your eyes. From your first memory to your last, you get to remember all the good, all the bad, and all the in-between. It would surprise you how long the crappy in-between parts take. After nearly a hundred deaths you get used to this, after a thousand it gets downright irritating. By now I'm just bored, fading in and out of my own memories, not even bothering to watch my own life pass me by again.

But I still always pay attention to some parts. With burning intensity I go from disinterested to focused, as it draws closer to my teenage years, as we get closer to fourteen. That's where this began, where an innocent crush became a heart wrenching need. That was when my life changed, and all unknowing I set the stage for everything that has followed. It led to all the good times, all the wonderful times, all the amazing times, and yet…it also led to that one horrible night, and every bittersweet moment thereafter.

Could I have found the strength to change it if I knew then what I know now? Would I have chosen another path, if I knew I would end up a luckless damned soul? That I would spend eternity with arms desperately reaching up to Heaven, while both feet drag me ever downward? I'm not sure I could give him up even if it would spare us both. I'm just too selfish and as much as this sucks, as much as this hurts, he's still mine forever, even if I only get him for a few short moments at a time.

I like to believe I could have resisted and spared him everything if it was just me, if this was a case of unrequited longing. If, if, if, fucking hell, after all this time, why do I bother still playing games with ifs. The truth is I wouldn't change anything, I was lost the instant I knew he loved me too. I don't have these regrets for myself, I can live with it. Well technically I can die with it. But what about what it cost him? I wonder if he would feel the same now, take it all as it came or change things back when it mattered. As my flashing by life slows down, I find myself falling back into the familiar memories all over again. The questions fade away to the only one that still matters. It's not a question for me though and I'd never have the courage to ask him. So I prepare again to pore over the pages of my life, searching those key moments for some clue to the answer. Oh, Butters, do you ever regret your promise? Do you wish you hadn't kissed me back?


	2. Ch 1: I Have a Dream

**A/N:** Heh a bit fast of an update, but I always prefer a real chapter to follow on the heels of a prologue rather quickly! Thanks to Bethany, for first review! 3, Seriously your little reviews are one of the best rewards for writing these things and as often as you offer them I thought by now a public shout of love was more than earned! :-D

Hope you all enjoy and as always thank you for taking the time to read my silly stories.

Sky

* * *

"Dream as if you'll life forever. Live as if you'll die today." ~James Dean

FoF Chapter 1: I Have a Dream 

_***Age Fourteen***_

Everything came to a head in my early teens. That was the first time our lives slowed down long enough for me to sit back and take stock of things. It's kind of hard to figure out where your life is headed, when your to busy dying on an almost weekly basis from random adventures. I don't know what happened in the real world, but when we turned fourteen it seemed to finally leave South Park behind. All the giant guinea pigs, genetically modified turkeys and towels, the mysterious alien visitors, and even the living dead, excluding myself of course, finally stopped showing up to drive us crazy.

It should have been a great time, a chance to finally cut free and be real kids. It wasn't though; instead it just gave me too much time to think. Now that I could live my life, it seemed something was missing. Something other than the attacks from Bette Midler crossed with Godzilla monsters and the armies of Hell. There was a discontented feeling just under the surface of my thoughts that I couldn't pin down. At only fourteen, it' might seem a bit young to start getting depressed, but somehow I was managing it better than those L.A. kids that got Kyle to try acid and Prozac.

It made no sense really. Kenny McCormick, the guy even death couldn't keep down, was being brought low by life? Worse yet he was being brought down by NORMAL life. I tried to narrow it down but all the usual suspects for depression didn't fit. So, I didn't have money, I hadn't really needed it to have a good time before. I had plenty of friends; ok I had two friends, a lot of acquaintances and a tag-a-long asshole. Best of all, these days I could go more than a week without dying to some disaster. Who could ask for more than that?

In the end it took a perfectly normal day to show me not only what was wrong, but how to fix it. It all started with Eric Cartman and finished with Leopold Stotch. Oddly enough I can think of almost a dozen crazy adventures that had begun and ended with that combination, but this was the first time one of them affected me.

Cartman's part for once was small. One little joke, possibly the millionth time he'd ever made one at my expense. I don't even remember what he'd said, something about one day having to support my ass with tax dollars, or me having ghetto babies of my own. I'm sure it was something like that; it's not like he ever tried out any new material to make fun of us. Stan was too soft, Kyle was too Jewish, and I was too poor. Why on earth would he abandon that golden standard of comedy? Not that we really deviated in our responses much either.

This kind of scene with us was so common the reactions were all instinct and not really heartfelt anymore. We might as well have been reading from scripts. I could seriously have seen us being replaced by actors doing this day to god damn day on reruns, tossing out "Shut it lard ass" and "Hey watch your mouth Jew," like overused catch phrases. I know weird thought right? _Who in hell would be entertained watching that kind of crap? _

Right on queue Stan had tossed me a comforting arm pat and Kyle was going ballistic telling the fat ass to shut up. It was all shaping up to be just another one of those days, but for some reason that day I didn't follow my script and glare my hate at Cartman. That day I was so down in the dumps I didn't even get angry at the lard ball. Instead I looked at my other two friends, hoping for something a little more meaningful than an arm pat and insults to cheer me up. I think it must have been the first time I looked at them instead of Cartman during these exchanges. I know it was the first time I noticed their expressions.

I was expecting irritated looks and downturned frowns. I was expecting Stan's usual disapproval and disgust with Eric, written in every line of his way to expressive face. I was expecting the near frothing at the mouth rabid rage Eric brought out in Kyle. What I saw though was another emotion, one that pissed me off more than a thousand of Cartman's "Pop-tart Dinners" and "Don't touchy me with your dirty poor hands," comments. It was not outrage, but embarrassment and uncomfortable anger. I realized they weren't reacting because they were furious he'd thought to say something like that; they were furious because he'd said it out loud. It wasn't that he was lying, or making something up. They were mad at him for pointing out something people aren't supposed to talk about in the open, like Mr. Garrison being half-man, half-woman, and all fucked up, or how Jimmy's stutters were fucking annoying, and you always ended up laughing at him and not the jokes.

Suddenly the cause for my dissatisfaction was abundantly clear. Now that all our exciting adventures were over, we were becoming regular kids. And that meant regular lives, regular school, and one day regular jobs. Unless you were Kenny McCormick, that is. Apparently I was destined for a below-average life, barely passing High School, followed by a shitty job in town or welfare and the unemployment line. Worse everyone in town was apparently already in on this big secret, even by two best friends. Even if no one was saying it out loud, I guess I had picked it up on some level. Picked it up but not really understood what it was until now. Suddenly the lack of interest from the teachers, the pitying looks from adults around town, the way no one ever cared if I died, and a hundred other little clues fell into place. I guess it had been going on for years; but now it finally made sense to me. I hadn't realized until then that everyone else expected me to end up just like my dad, or at best marginally better. A drunken, piss poor dick who lived in a barely functioning shack, with about five ghetto babies, who's only claim to fame might be one day ending up on an episode of Cops. Hell my dad already managed that last part when Cartman took over for Barbrady during the chicken fucker scare a few years back.

For some reason that quiet assumption that I wouldn't be able to amount to much bothered me in ways the fat-asses constant jokes and loud nagging laugh never could. How do you deal with finding out no one expects you to amount to anything? Even two of my closest friends thought I wasn't going to be able to escape the McCormick fate. They hadn't said it out loud of course, but in my head they'd as much as admitted that they thought I'd never be more than another statistic of South Park.

So I did the only thing I could think of in retaliation. I stormed off without a word. I just walked away right in the middle of a beautiful fight between the fat-ass and the Jew. I probably could have timed it for a more dramatic affect, but I really didn't care if they noticed, I'd had enough of their attention right now. Stan did notice, I guess, I'll give him that much. The others might have if at that point Kyle and Cartman weren't rolling around in the dirt tossing punches and kicks. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Stan hesitate, almost following me. But that would have meant leaving Kyle alone with Cartman and in the end he chose to stay and separate the two. That only made me angrier. It was obviously more important to keep his super best friend safe from a fight that he'd fought and won over a hundred times, than worry about the feelings of a poor piece of crap.

In my anger I was walking to get away from everyone, directionless at first. It wasn't until I'd crossed town and wound up in front of a familiar door that I realized my feet had unconsciously dragged me to the only person in South Park who I wouldn't be angry with. I was standing in front of the Stotch house.

Its not that Butters was a close friend, or that he had some secret way of cheering me up. It was just well; if there was one person in town who I couldn't be mad at it was Butters. If you'd ever met the guy you'd understand, no one could really be angry with him. Well no one but his asshole parents or Cartman. But that's not really saying much about him and loads about them.

So there I was knocking on his door, knowing that at least if I forced myself to talk with him, I could go a few more minutes without swearing or fucking attacking someone. Better yet from him I could almost guarantee to get some kind of "G-g-osh Kenny, your not worthless," or other mindless platitude, that the goody-two-shoe would instinctually toss out. This was of course assuming those aforementioned assholes weren't home to answer the door. If they did, I'd be ushered off with stories of Butters being grounded. Or maybe not even just stories; they were nuts enough to ground him just because an angry poor kid they didn't like knocked on their door.

Luck was with me, because even though they were home, he got to the door first.

He peeked out the door, like some kind of bunny, or better yet squirrel, testing the air before he wanders out of his den. If you wonder why I thought squirrel, just look up Britney Spears and suicide attempts on YouTube. Assuming that "Leave Britney Alone" freak hasn't filled the first eight pages with videos, you'll probably find one with her being escorted out of a hotel room, missing half a face, with a kid in a fucking squirrel costume staring at everyone looking terrified. Yeah, that's Butters, and that's exactly how he looked right now, minus the costume of course.

Honestly sometimes I think the reason no one stays mad at him and that he's so perpetually nice, is that he's really fucked up in the head. Who the fuck lets other people dress him up like a god damned animal for random schemes, or lets their parents sell them to Paris Hilton? For that matter whoever heard of a thirteen year old afraid to answer his own door? Still I wasn't here to pass judgment, I was here to have him judge me, and hopefully in a positive light. It looked like I might get it too, because upon seeing it was just me at the door, he smiled one of his trademark tiny nervous smiles and inched his way out. He was almost out when over his shoulder I heard his dad shout and he froze in place like one of the woodland critters he was so often dressed like.

"Who is it Butters?"

"It's n-n-nothing dad, just a friend."

"Now Butters, don't lie, you don't have any friends! It's not a Jehovah's Witness is it?! If you're talking to a Jehovah's Witness your grounded mister! I won't have you converting in my house!"

"N-n-no dad, just someone from school! It might be important, about a test or something!"

"Well they can't come in; if they come in they'll get dirt on the floor and you'll catch some kind of disease from it! And if you catch a disease your grounded mister!"

"Ok, dad I'll just talk to him out here then."

"Well be quick about it! You didn't put on any sunscreen and if you stay out too long without sunscreen you'll get skin cancer. You don't want skin cancer do you? If you get skin cancer, you'll go to hell!"

"Gosh no dad! I don't want no skin cancer, so I'll talk real fast!"

_See what I mean about assholes? Who seriously talks like that to their own kid?_ As soon as the ridiculous exchange ended he stepped onto the doorstop and shut the door way too gently behind him. He probably got spanked if he closed doors loudly.

Satisfied with his handling of his dad, he beamed proudly as he turned to talk to me. Then he took in the mixture of gloom and anger on my face and his own smile fell in an instant. His eyes practically oozed concern and he started wringing his hands in front of him with worry. It was exactly the reaction I'd been hoping for. I knew I could count on at least him to be sympathetic. Butters would probably be the only person not directly related to Eric, who would cry at his funeral. He'd definitely get upset if a normal person was miserable. And right now I desperately needed that, needed someone to worry about Kenny McCormick's feelings instead of just writing him off. Hell just seeing how worked up looking at me made him was starting to lift my bad mood.

"K-k-enny? Whats wrong?"

_What's wrong?_ The question brought me back to why I'd come here and banished the pleasantness I had already started to feel at the idea of being worried over. Suddenly I was back to angry, back to depressed, and back to why I'd stormed away from my best friends to end up at this door.

"Butters can you be honest with me?"

It was a dumb question; I regretted it the second I asked it. Of course he'd be honest; he made his mom confess to trying to kill him, and his dad admit to being gay. He probably thought lies got you sent to Hell, where the Devil could rape you with his pitchfork or something even worse every day. Sure enough he chimed back almost before I finished the question.

"Of course Kenny!" His eyes were shining with hints of moisture, either still very worried about me or hurt at the very idea he might lie to me. "I ain't never told a lie to a friend, or anyone else! Well, I guess I told a little white one this one time to the police. But my dad said if I didn't God would smack me so hard when I died, I'd land at Satan's feet with a five fingered bruise on my face. You aren't gonna ask me something that will make God hit me are ya?"

_Make god mad?_ For a second I really, really wanted to know what in the world his dad had wanted him to lie about so much he'd threaten Butters with a divine bitch-slap. Of course getting that secret out of him would take longer than he had permission to be out so I had to focus on my problems for now.

"Just tell me one thing. Do you think I'm going to be poor forever?"

I expected an instant, "Gosh no," or something to that affect. For the second time that day, things didn't go the way they should have. He just clammed up, his lips tightening and almost turning down as he considered the question. _A thoughtful frown on Butter's face? Why the fuck was my day being so weird?_

He took a long time to answer, obviously thinking very carefully about his response. I almost got mad all over again. I hadn't come here looking for an insightful answer; I certainly hadn't come for a 'yes!' I wanted my quick no and then to be soothed and babied out of my bad mood.

I'd chosen Butters, because I was sure this was the one guy who'd instantly offer the nicest possible answer, something to make me feel better and forget about this sick feeling that had been creeping around in my stomach. I almost stormed off again when I didn't get that, proving that there might be a fourth person in this entire world who could get mad at Butters. I would have done just that, if he hadn't he looked right into my eyes then, freezing me on the spot with the conviction in them.

"I don't know K-kenny."

_What…the…fuck_! That was not the answer I'd come for. _Move over depressed and angry, it's time for hurt and confused to have some face time. I just got a mental kick to the balls from Leopold fucking-Stotch._ Somehow this was more painful coming from the melvin than any doubt or condemnation from emo and the Jew. I mean I might love them as friends, but they could be douches at times. This kid wouldn't have anything nasty to say about Hitler or Manson, not any nice things to say either mind you, but he'd honestly bite his tongue rather than badmouth even the biggest douche in the universe. Who is still, last I checked, John Edwards.

It was hitting me like a ton of bricks. Which I know because I actually have been hit by a ton of bricks, and a piano, a space station, and about half a dozen other fatally heavy objects. If you have to actually ask, it hurts. It hurts 'a-lot'. And this hurt too. But it was a lot scarier than all of those other painful times. Not that a piano falling on you isn't scary, but at least you know you can get up the next day and move on with your life. If Butters said he didn't know if I'd be poor, he honestly didn't know. I wasn't sure I even wanted to get up next time I died if the most optimistic dork in South Park thought I'd just end up being this miserable and poor forever.

All of those thoughts must have shown on my face pretty clearly, because his eyes were just growing larger and more worried with each second of silence. Finally he couldn't take it anymore and continued.

"D-don't get mad Kenny! I didn't mean it in a bad way. It's just; I don't really have any say do I? You'll do whatever you wanna do. Do you wanna be poor? There's nothing wrong with it if you do! As long as you're happy, God don't care none. If you have a thousand dollars or a million it don't matter when you get to Heaven, as long as you don't the have the Aids. You'll do whatever you want Kenny!" He stopped a second and looked behind him at the house before leaning in to whisper confidentially to me. "And you shouldn't really worry about the Aids thing if you get it. I don't think God really cares; my dad just says he does."

I barely registered the last part of that. I was grasping at the rope he'd tossed in his second answer that might pull me out of lake of uselessness and pained misery I'd just fallen into. _I can do whatever I want to?_ It might not seem like much of a revelation; it's probably something that was told to middle-class kids all the time. To me though this was a more shocking secret than that his dad might be wrong about god hating the Aids. They don't exactly toss around a, 'You can be a doctor, a lawyer, or anything you want to be' speech when they hand your parents a monthly welfare check. The best I ever got was, 'just don't be as drunk as your dead beat dad,' or 'there's another opening at Shaky's Pizza for a busboy, start now and you might make assistant manager one day.'

So here I was staring openmouthed at Butters, who was back to fidgeting, almost as badly as Tweek does when he's had to go more than ten minutes without coffee. Butters was probably convinced I was resisting the urge to beat him up. I barely noticed, I was still stuck in the wonder of why had no one else told me that? Mr. Mackey certainly never gave me this kind of pep-talk and he'd been my school counselor for years and years. Sad but true, South Park couldn't afford a separate counselor for middle and high-school. My best friends never tried this tact on me, they might think Cartman was wrong to say I was worthless, but they never said anything about me having real potential. No one in this damned town had ever said one word about a McCormick having the ability to end up as more than trailer trash.

It all came clear then. No one said it because in this town only someone as idealistic as Butters would actually believe I actually could amount to anything. McCormicks in South Park weren't told they could be more, because no one in South Park expected them to be more. So was that it? Was I doomed by virtue of my name, or could I really do something? Not in South Park, for sure, no one here was going to give me that kind of chance.

_But what about somewhere else?_ Once I got out of High School, could I leave this place behind? Could I find a place where Kenny, could be anything or anyone he wanted to be? There was only one way to know and the first step would be securing a way to put South Park as far behind me as I could, the minute that diploma touched my hand. My mind was racing down the different places I could go, and how to get there. I was so distracted I forgot all about where I was or that I was supposed to be upset right now. I forgot everything until I felt a nervous finger poke my arm and looked up in shock. Butters pulled his hand back as if I'd bitten it, looking frightened at having regained my attention. In a tiny, squeaky voice he stuttered under my gaze.

"I'm sorry if I said something wrong K-k-kenny. But you d-didn't want me to lie to you did you? If it helps any, I think you can be really, really rich if you wanna be!"

He offered the last bit of that with a strained grin. It was the weirdest smile I'd ever seen on his face. Half please-don't-kill me, half please-don't-be-sad. I had to grin in reaction, partially at how ridiculous he looked, partially at the suddenly brighter future spinning in my head. A plan was slowly forming itself, a plan that did not involve South Park, drunken parent's fighting in living room, or that ugly managers vest at Shaky's pizza.

"I'm not mad, Butters. I'm just, surprised." That didn't seem to make him relax much; he clearly had been frightened at my long pause. Out of pity I tossed him another question to get his attention off his worries. I hit on the first thing I myself was wondering, how to get out of South Park fastest. "Got another question for ya Butters. Do you think I could get a car by the time I'm eighteen?"

He was adorably eager to get back into my good graces after his last answer. The terror vanished completely from his face and he actually bounced a little in place as his face disappeared behind his wide eyes and giant smile. His reply practically tripped on his tongue on its rush to get out of his mouth.

"Sure, Kenny! You could do it! I bet you could get one way sooner than eighteen if you tried! Why would you want it that late anyway? Can't you start driving at sixteen! I know you could save enough to get one by then! If anyone could do it it'd be you Kenny!"

He must have said more than he meant, because when I broke from my distracted thoughts to stare at him in gratitude for those words, his cheeks tinged a soft pink. Suddenly he was very interested in examining the ground at his feet and the sky above us. Looking up must have reminded him of how late it was, that or he was desperate to seek an escape from the suddenly awkward moment, because suddenly he was trying to leave.

"G-g-osh I've been out here a long time. I should really get inside before my dad spanks my bottom for getting skin cancer! Bye Kenny!" He threw the words out in a rush and turned towards the door opening it quickly and all but running inside. Just before the door shut, I stopped it with my own foot. He stared down at the worn shoe wedged in the door before slowly tracing his way up my leg, then my torso, to settle on my face, those soft blue eyes of his wide with nervousness and eagerness alike. It was kind of sad how scared and desperate he was at the same time at the very idea of a direct conversation with someone. People in this town really did ignore him way too much, myself included. Considering I had only interacted with him to use him for a quick pick-me-up, I felt a twinge of guilt intrude on my lightening mood.

"Thanks Butters, you're a good friend." It didn't seem like much to say after everything he'd said to me, but it was the only thing that my mind could manage to get out. Apparently it was enough though, his smile came back full-force, and this time the pink flush reached all the way to his neck.

"An-n-nytime Kenny! And you know if you need any help at all, well…you can always ask me!"

I pulled my foot back then, nodding my head mutely, unsure what else I could say in response to that. It was just as well; apparently he'd used up his courage for the day, because he shut the door hastily, though still gently.

I was stunned, for a moment too caught up in the feelings that exchange caused, before I managed to grab hold of myself, and figuratively shake those musings from my mind. There would be time to work out all of that later; and there'd definitely be a later. I owed Butters for this, and I'd pay him back in full. The least I could do was actually try to be a friend back to him. But that was later and this was now.

And right now I had a mission to start, the sooner the better. Fired up with visions of being someone, anyone, but the guy everyone in South Park looked down on, I headed for downtown, searching every window for help signs. It took less than a week to find work. It turns out if you're willing to work for anyone, for any hours, doing anything, someone will say yes eventually. They'll say yes even if they have to pay you under the table and pretend you just look really young for your age.

In the end I actually landed two jobs, neither paying much but together it was enough. At least when I got home and struggled through the math it seemed like I'd make the two year deadline with room to spare. Granted math wasn't my strong suit and I had no idea how much it might cost to get a car good enough to last all of high school, the insurance, and who knows what else I might need. So I ended up spending my weekends as a bouncer at Raisins, and a few nights a week working at a local garage. I'm not buff, but I can more than handle a few rowdy elementary and middle school freaks stalking the Raisins girls to their bikes. And would you honestly try to start something with a kid who doesn't have to hold back and worry about a silly little thing like surviving the fight? That job was by far the easier of the two, sitting around looking tough and trying not to laugh at the third grader's making big eyes at girls who hadn't even started to develop yet. Even better I got to take left over food home after work, which meant real meals and more money saved.

As for the garage, apparently I was a natural grease monkey. It didn't come as a total surprise. I knew cars; any boy my age knew cars a little. Not having expected to really own one, or afford the magazines all my friends looked at, I'd had to get most of my experience with them by exploring the broken ones at junk yards, or watching my dad desperately try to get ours to survive one more winter.

When I'd walked into the garage carrying the help wanted sign from the window, the old mechanic had looked up from his table where he'd been pulling apart a broken engine, to frown at me skeptically. He almost said no right out, but must have been bored with his work and decided to get a little fun out of putting me in my place. He looked me up and down obviously not impressed and asked if I even knew what a crankshaft was. He was probably expecting me to make a dirty joke or stare in confusion. Judging from the way his bushy white eyebrows rose towards his receding hairline, he wasn't expecting me to walk over the bench at his side and point out just which part of the dismantled engine he was talking about. He definitely didn't expect me to start moving pistons around to show how they connected to it, and explain how the whole thing operated. After about a minute of staring dumbfounded at me while I nervously rambled on, he finally ran one greasy hand through what little tufts of hair he still had and told me I could stop. With a shrug in amused defeat he offered me the job. _Who knew a lifetime of having car parts scattered around the lawn by your deadbeat dad would actually be useful?_ I certainly didn't, but for the first time in my life I was tempted to thank my dad for waking me up on those frozen winter mornings to hold a flashlight while he swore and banged around the truck trying to get things working. Not that I would actually go through with it and thank him, what would be the point? Even if he'd understood, he wouldn't remember once the drinking started again.

With two jobs and a sudden need to do much better in school every free second of my life was being consumed, yet I'd never felt better. Suddenly I was making money; moving towards a real goal had changed my life dramatically. Yet outwardly there was no visible change at all to the kids around me. I tried to save as much as I could so I didn't spend a thing on myself, no matter how tempting new clothes and food were to a poor ghetto kid. Not that I was keeping all of my money anyway, eventually my parents caught on to the fact that I was spending my nights and weekends working. Soon enough they started asking me for money. You don't know weird until your dad is asking you for a ten so he can buy booze. That was easy to ignore, but when my mom started asking for money to buy stuff for my brothers and sisters I couldn't say no.

That was when things got genuinely scary and I felt the McCormick curse closing in on me. _How can I refuse my own family's needs?_ I could very easily see myself getting caught in helping make ends meet, till eventually everything I made was going into it and I never had enough to escape. With no sure solution at hand I started confiding my worries to Butters, hoping that at least telling someone might relieve some of the tension. And it had to be Butters I went to. I didn't have anyone else. I was still not speaking to Stan and Kyle. As for Cartman, you go to him if you want to have more problems, not if you want to talk them away.

It turned out that Butters was actually the ideal person to go to with troubles. He always had time for me and it was second-nature for him to be sympathetic and positive. In addition it was just generally easier to hang out with him. He knew what I was worried about, so he didn't ask me to blow money at the movies, or hang out after school when I had to be at the garage. Then there was that silent promise I'd made to myself to be a better friend, to pay him back for helping start this all up.

So when I could find time on weekends and nights I'd drag him out of his house to hang out, getting him out from under the very unhappy eyes of his parents. It had started initially out of guilt, but eventually I started enjoying it. He was one of the first people I'd ever hung out with who was genuinely interested in what I had to say. Maybe it was years of no one actually having any fucking clue what I was saying under my parka, but usually when Kenny speaks, the average person's eyes glaze and they just stop caring. Not Butters though, the guy would literally hang on my every word. He even listened if the most interesting thing I had to do was tell him a story about kicking out some snot nosed brat who was trying to cop a feel of one of the Raisins girl's non-existent boobs. Sometimes the guy had some interesting things of his own to say, though I usually ended up laughing at the parts he was being serious about, and just staring blankly when he tried to be funny.

It was almost natural that after all of the confessions and idle conversations about what and who I wanted to be, Butters moved from guilty-friend to genuine-friend. It helped that he not only listened to what I said, but actually responded in a meaningful way. I was only expecting a sympathetic ear, someone to actually appreciate that I was working myself to the bone, or was going to be somebody someday. He took it on himself to offer me stuttered pep talks, and adorably heart felt attempts to cheer me up when things looked down. Butters had become my personal cheerleader.

His 'help' would end up amounting to a lot more than just moral support though. He wasn't just content to sit by and let me try for it alone. Butters said he believed that I could get a car by sixteen and 'by golly' I'd have it or there'd be 'heck to pay.' In spite of all his enthusiasm, I was still surprised to discover how much helping me meant to him. And far more surprised to find out how much he might start meaning to me. I would find out soon enough though once the weather got cold, well colder, it was South Park after all.


	3. Ch 2: Ask Not What You Can Do For Me

"One can pay back the loan of gold, but one lies forever in debt to those who are kind." ~Malcolm S. Forbes

FoF Chapter 2: Ask Not What You Can Do For Me

_**Age Fourteen to Fifteen **_

In our house the trick to financially surviving winter weather was to buy used clothes for only the oldest McCormick kids. For the younger sibs unfortunately it was just hand-me-downs. Each year the ratty winter clothes made their annual journey down a kid. This was a problem as some of the clothes going to my youngest sister and brother were moving onto their fourth or fifth McCormick. At this point even the sweaters were so threadbare that you could almost see through them.

It was getting so bad I caught my mom looking at the box where they stored my orange parka. Considering the bad luck associated with it and the fact that we didn't have any real proof that any of my siblings had my 'resilience' to the dying problem, this was a pretty scary sign. Did the parka attract fatal accidents? Would my little brother or sister come back? I didn't have any desire to really 'test,' either theory out and I know my mom didn't either. The only alternative was a trip to Goodwill for 'new' clothes not just for us older kids but the younger ones as well this time. I had no doubts at all that if it came to that, I'd be shelling out my hard earned cash, probably more if it more than my dad. It was that or find out if any of them would freeze to death and stay dead when the furnace died in the middle of the night again.

While the weather was warm enough I held back, avoiding my mom while it was still safe. I knew she'd delay asking me until it was necessary. The idea of taking money from her son was as distasteful to her as it was to me. Still I felt like an ass for doing it, knowing I should be happy to help, knowing I should just volunteer rather than make her wait. The debate was weighing on my mind a lot so it was no surprise that I finally broke down and told Butters about it during one of our Saturday walks to Raisins.

"-so I'm not sure anymore what's the right thing to do. Damn it Butters. Clothes don't cost a lot, not at Goodwill, but there are seven of us. And I can't just expect them to go every day in the same crap either. Even I only wore the parka everyday; I still changed clothes under it. There's no way dad's gonna be able pay for it all with welfare money. I know mom wants to ask me to help but she keeps putting it off. And I'm letting her, like waiting a week or two is gonna provide some magic solution so I don't have to give money to help my own damn family! I feel like a jerk!"

Butters reached a small hand across the distance to pat my shoulder consolingly. He was always doing things like that, making physical contact when he wanted to be reassuring. I guess he was kinda starved of it when he was a kid, so having a friend that let him get away with it had made him bolder.

"I don't think you're a jerk Kenny. There's nothing wrong with hoping something good happens as long as they don't need the clothes just yet. At least you know you're gonna help when and if you have to. And who says nothin' magic will happen? Maybe you can find a leprechaun and get his pot of gold!"

I arched an eyebrow at that. _A magic pot of gold? Seriously?_ As usual he managed to cut through my sour mood in only a single sentence. Again I was fighting the urge to laugh at his serious side. Stoically I prepared myself to shatter his bubble of fantasy with shocking news.

"Butters, you know people don't actually find leprechauns, right?"

The smaller blonde's smile was undiminished, completely unphased by the news. The look on his face was as if he was trying not to laugh at me and I was the one making ridiculous claims. Suddenly I remembered the Imagination Land incident of a few years back and bit my tongue to hold back a groan. No wonder he wasn't taking me seriously. I was stuck amending my statement.

"Ok, they don't find leprechauns anymore! Even then he didn't have any gold on him, just a terrorist warning. Besides when was the last time you saw Imagination Land, or any other strange stuff around here? Face it that stuff doesn't happen to us anymore."

Now the smile did droop a little and his face fell slightly. His hand slipped from my shoulder and back into the pocket of his light blue jacket with a defeated air. By the time he started biting his lip in concern I was feeling a fairly hefty wave of guilt. It was one thing to complain about my problems to him. It was another to throw his attempts at cheering me up right back in his face. I was still trying to figure out how to make things up to him when our journey ended at the Raisins door. I made an awkward attempt at grabbing his shoulder, figuring maybe a little returned physical affection might cheer him up.

He looked up at that, but I was surprised to see that it wasn't disappointment on his face but determination. In the end he broke the silence before me.

"I don't think you should give up just c-cause we don't have adventures anymore. There's plenty of other normal good things that can happen that don't require Imagination Land, or nothin' like that. And you're not a jerk for hopin' somethin' better happens. Cause I hope for better things to happen all the time and I'm not a jerk. Am I?!"

What was I supposed to say to that? I couldn't really convince him not to hold out hope. I sure as hell wasn't going to call him a jerk. So I just offered a sad smile in the face of his attempt at seriousness.

"Of course you're not a jerk. You're one of the nicest people alive Butters. I like that you see the best in everything. I just wish I could believe that good things like that really happened. I have to get to work though right now. I'll talk to you sometime tomorrow."

With that I turned around to go inside but was stopped when a pair of arms wrapped themselves snuggly around my waist and I felt a head nuzzle into the space between my shoulder blades. This was a lot bolder than he usually was and I was a bit embarrassed by the display. There didn't seem to be a way to get out of the embrace easily considering he was behind me, so I suffered it stoically as my punishment for upsetting him. Meanwhile I prayed no one inside the building happened to be looking out the glass doors right now. Strangely enough when those hands disentangled from me, I wasn't nearly as relieved as I expected. Hugs weren't exactly a high commodity in the McCormick household; Mom used to toss them out, but four easily embarrassed boys trained it out of even her eventually.

I turned around to say goodbye again, but Butters was already walking away. I wasn't sure if he'd left it at that silent parting because he realized he should be embarrassed, or if he just didn't have anything else to say. There wasn't much I could do about it though; I had work to get too.

That night was a particularly crappy shift. They ended up keeping me late after a chicken wing food fight left me playing not only bouncer but janitor. By the time I got home I was exhausted, but when I opened the door the chill in the house made me realize it was very unlikely I'd be falling asleep easily. Worse the coldness brought back my worries from earlier in the day. When I finally did fall asleep, it was an uneasy doze, tossing and shivering under the thin blankets. The combination of hour and poor rest should have left me so exhausted I slept until well into Sunday afternoon. The faint peace I finally managed to achieve; however, was shattered fairly early in the morning when my mom slammed my bedroom door open loudly, crashing through my desperately needed dream time to wake me up.

Slowly I lifted my aching head off my weak excuse for a pillow and tried to rub the sleep from my eyes. The feeling of hammers pounding in my head had me arguing with myself about whether it would be worth the extra financial worry to spring the money for a lock on my door. Still feeling groggy it took me a moment to register that my mom was actually talking to me.

"Kenny, one of your friends is outside; he says he wants to talk to you."

_Which of my friends would be visiting me here this early? _That question was so pressing I didn't bother to answer my mom, just waved her out of the room and started running through the list in my head. Butters never came to this side of town, I didn't let him. One of the only things his parents and I both agreed on was that it was too dangerous for someone like him to go wandering around down here. I ruled out Cartman just as easily, with how much he hated the ghetto you might assume he'd had personal experience, but he actually wouldn't be caught dead near this side of town. I hadn't spoken to Stan or Kyle in a month, so it might be one of them finally tracking me down, but the idea of either of them acting alone when they were practically attached at the hip was very unlikely. _So who in hell is at my door on a god-damned Sunday morning?_

Afire with curiosity and irritation alike I got out of bed, snagging the nearest pair of jeans from the floor before heading to our door. A shirt could wait; right now I had to know who it was. In my haste I decided it was a good idea to try and pull on my pants while walking through the living room. The end result was tripping over the coffee table that I somehow failed to notice in my sleepy daze. The resounding crash was accompanied by a string of swear words as I slowly got to my feet. My right leg took the brunt of the fall, though my head was also throbbing from the impact with the floor. Rubbing my head to soothe the piercing ache behind my eyes, I focused on the more pressing concern, whether or not I'd seriously damaged my foot. If I couldn't walk I'd have to miss work and that would be far worse than serious brain damage. If I died from a concussion I'd probably be able to get back to the garage by Tuesday, if my foot was hurt, I'd have to heal the old fashioned way and it might take weeks.

Gingerly I tested out my right foot. It hurt, but not in that sharp stabbing, 'I'm broken' way, just that dull throbbing, 'my god you're an idiot next time watch where you're going' way. By the time I finished reassuring myself, I was fully awake, but the pain also conspired to have me in a fairly foul mood. Curiosity mostly traded for anger at this point, I yanked the door open, ready to unleash my irritation on my unwelcome guest.

The rage expended itself when my eyes took in the nervous blonde at my door. Butters was standing at the doorway resting wearily on a box that was nearly half as tall as he was. He had a guilty expression painted on his face, though it was partially masked by eagerness and pride. All of it faded when he looked up and saw me standing there, his eyes suddenly going wide and a flush creeping up his face. I was suddenly very aware that I was standing in the doorway in nothing but a sagging pair of jeans. I'm normally pretty self conscious about my thin build, but with everything else it had slipped my mind. Trying to pretend I wasn't half naked, I looked him right in the eye with what I hoped was a confident and bored expression. I was still trying to sort out thoughts in my pained head, but before I could come up with something Butters recovered from his sudden bout of shyness and spoke.

"N-now Kenny, don't get mad. I know I'm not supposed to come over here, but I wanted to surprise you. I know how you said yesterday that nothin' good every really happens ta people and I got ta thinkin'. I still think there's nothin' wrong with hopin' good things happen. But I kinda figured maybe it'd be better ta make good things happen, instead of just thinkin' about how swell it'd be. Besides you're tryin' awfully hard ta get a car, an' it don't seem right that you should have to give that up cause you plan on doin' the right thing! So I started thinkin' about what I could do ta help."

This was by far the longest single speech I'd ever heard from the boy that was almost stutter free. Unfortunately it did nothing to explain why in god's name he was at my door on a Sunday though. I had no idea what on earth he was talking about and my head was still too sore to think it out clearly. The confusion cleared up rather quickly when with a trembling hand he opened the box at his feet and I saw that it was piled with clothing. Suddenly what he was doing was abundantly clear and I almost hated myself for the words that slipped out of my mouth.

"Butters…you can't do this. I don't need you spending money on my family. They're my responsibility not yours. This isn't why I tell you those things and it's not right. I can't accept these."

That was probably the hardest thing I'd had to say in ages and inside my head, half of my brain was calling me idiot for refusing the gift he was offering. Still I knew it was wrong. I didn't tell Butters my problems so he'd feel obligated to help me. I did it because it was nice to have someone who cared about my worries to confide in. The idea of him spending his money so I didn't have to spend mine, made me feel dirty inside.

I wasn't sure if he initially heard me, as he was already bent over the edge of the box his head in the clothes, looking for something. He almost fell into the box shifting things around, before giving up that approach and pulling one of the top jackets out and setting it on the side. He pulled a few more sweaters out before finding a surprisingly large one and with a smile offered it to me. In spite of my words, I took the sweater, simply because the alternative was to keep standing there freezing and half naked. It loomed on me, obviously made for an adult, although not so large that I might not grow into it soon enough. Nodding with satisfaction he started digging around through the clothes again looking for something else.

I reached across the box, gently grabbing his shoulder and forcing him to look up at me and listen. Yet again direct eye contact seemed to be his undoing. He couldn't seem to hold my gaze without his eyes growing wider and lips trembling. Thankfully at least it made it very obvious that I had his complete attention now.

"Butters, I'm serious. You can't buy things for everyone just because bad things happen. I'll get through this somehow on my own. Having you as a friend is more than enough, I don't need your charity too."

He moved my hand from his shoulder in a surprisingly serious gesture, as if I was the one being silly. He shook his head in disagreement before he returned to rooting through the clothes. He did at least respond to me, though his eyes were more focused on whatever he was searching for.

"Now don't go feelin' bad Kenny; I promise I didn't spend nothin'. We save all my Dad's old clothes and the things I grow out of. I don't have no brothers or sisters to give it all too, an' I'm probably never gonna be big enough to wear Dad's stuff. We were gonna just give it all to the church one day. So while I was at Sunday school this morning, I got to thinkin', if it's going to a family anyway, it might as well go to one I know! So I asked the Sister teaching us if God would mind me picking who got my old stuff instead of puttin' it in the donation box. She said he wouldn't have no problem with it, she even gave me some blankets to bring!"

My argument neatly countered, he went back to pulling things out. While I wrestled with the logic trying to figure out a way to disagree, he finally found what he was looking for. With a squeal of delight his hands came out of the mass of clothes, tugging on a blue sleeve. The item came out with a pop and I instantly recognized the faded blue Hello Kitty hoody. It used to be his favorite cold weather jacket back in the fourth grade and we all used to tease him terribly for how stupid it was for a boy to wear it. For some reason seeing him snuggle his face against it now, eyes closed and smiling contentedly, he didn't seem stupid looking at all. In fact he looked incredibly cute. _Wait, did I say cute? I must have hit my head harder than I thought._ Trying to figure out where on earth that thought had come from, I almost missed what he said next.

"I knew it was in here! I know how much you always loved wearing your jacket zipped up and tight back in fourth grade, an' I thought maybe your sister'd be the same way. So I figured she might like her own special jacket ta wear. It's warm an' soft, an' she can zip it up all the way and' hide in the hood if she wants. I used to hide in it all the time, when you guys were teasin' me. It's super snug!"

Again I couldn't help but notice how he seemed to be an impossible combination of too sweet and too cute. It seemed there was no use fighting my mind this morning. Perhaps I should have worried more about my head than my foot, because the accident had clearly knocked something important loose. My brain was determined to ache, determined that I not find a way to get out of accepting this gift, and very determined to make oddly appreciative observations about my closest friend's appearance.

So I helped drag the box inside, fairly impressed that Butters had managed to get the thing to this side of town all on his own. My mom joined us in the living room, obviously as embarrassed as me at accepting this kind of charity. She was clearly far more practical though, because she didn't bother fighting with him, seeing that I'd already given in. Instead she helped him sort the items out by who they might fit, while I sat in a chair and watched them. I couldn't be of much help anyway, seeing as very little of it was likely to fit me. I was far larger than Butters, who it seemed was never going to hit that final growth spurt to push him those last few inches to a respectable average height. Still there was plenty in it that would fit the three siblings younger than me, which was exactly what we needed most seeing as it was the younger kids getting the third and fourth generation hand-me-downs.

My mom was keeping Butters talking, so at least I was spared the effort of having to make conversation while wrestling with my moral and physical dilemmas. The noise must have finally gotten to my sister, because she wandered out of her room. Seeing her, Butters jumped up, clutching his Hello Kitty hoody tightly, nearly scaring my sister out of her mind with the way he raced towards her.

"Here ya go! This one's especially for you! I hope you like it as much as I did!" He thrust the hoody into her hands and stepped back with an air of excited anticipation. My sister stared at the hoody in confusion, before looking up at me with an expression which clearly said, 'What the hell?_'_ I gave her my most convincing, 'shut up, smile, and act like you like it or I'll make you regret it later,' look. She got the message and offered a grudging thank you. Luckily Butters couldn't tell that her gratitude was anything less than completely heartfelt and just glowed all the brighter before going back to the box. Meanwhile my sister beat a hasty retreat to her room staring at the blue jacket in her hands as if it might come alive and bite her at any moment.

In short order the box was emptied, and my mom was shifting clothes to different rooms, which left me to handle Butters on my own. _Great._

So where to go? What to do? _My room?_ No way were we going in there. Not while my brain was flip flopping between pain and snippy little comments about how a certain blond looked really good in that blue jacket he was wearing. _Kitchen?_ Yeah show him that and he'd be back the next day with boxes of food and that he'd definitely either have to buy or take from his parents. I've had enough moral dilemmas for one week._ Stay here? _Not any better. Dad would wake up eventually. The day I let the most embarrassing person in my life have a heart to heart with the only person in town that openly respected me, was the day I died and stayed that way from shame. _Go for a walk?_ Yeah right…like I'd…actually that last one wasn't a bad idea.

"You want to go for a walk Butters?"

I really shouldn't have asked him. I should have stood up, announced we were going somewhere and then ran for the door. It would have been a lot smarter than calling his attention to me and finding myself under the full impact of his questioning eyes. Definitely a lot smarter seeing as my brain was suddenly and desperately fascinated with trying to figure out why I'd never noticed what a pretty shade of blue those eyes of his were. _Stop it brain! Stop or I'll smash you into the floor again to knock everything back to the way it should be._

"S-sure Kenny. Where d'ya wanna go?"

Damn it. Even his accent and that little stutter were cuter than I remembered. And the way he bit his lips while he stared at me expectantly. Wait…expectantly? _Shit did he ask me a question? Fuck! Focus! Think of something._

"Hmmm?"

_That was the best you could come up with?_ Yup there was no longer any doubt. Brain damage. Possibly irreparable. I could only hope I'd die from it soon before it got worse.

"Where are we gonna go?"

"Oh yeah. Uh…Starks Pond?"

His face lit up and I regretted the decision instantly. Why didn't I pick a place that made his face fall? The last thing I needed right now was for those cerulean eyes to widen while those pale pink little lips of his stretched into an excited grin. Of course seeing as it was Butters, I would have been doomed no matter where I picked. His face would have lit up with just about any suggestion.

At least I got a moment of reprieve from the strange thoughts buzzing through my mind as I ran to my room to slip into shoes and socks. I took a little longer than I needed, as I rubbed my forehead and attempted to coax the craziness out. When the hurting stopped I took a deep breath and returned to the living room. Cautiously I avoided looking at Butters until I'd reached the front door. Reluctantly I turned in his direction, gesturing to the door as casually as I could. He bounced off the seat he was sitting on and almost skipped to the door. It looked pretty silly actually. _Silly. Good one brain. That I can work with._

The tension slipped out of me slowly as we walked. Apparently all it had taken was a little calming down to get things back to the way they should be. We talked a little but not about anything serious, school, the weather, and of course my work. Throughout I paid only a little attention to the conversation, instead listening to my treacherous thoughts, waiting for something insidious to sneak in about my friend. Luckily my mind made no new insights into the attractiveness of the small blonde beside me. Once we'd reached the pond I'd finally let my guard back down, satisfied that the strangeness had been nothing but a combination of sleep deprivation, extreme gratitude to Butters, and a disorienting blow the head.

At last I could enjoy his company awkwardness and guilt free. I did just that until it was time for me to take my leave to work. I noticed with a start that time had yet again slipped by far faster than I thought; it seemed to do that a lot when we talked no matter how frivolous the topic. There was something fascinating about talking on topics so ridiculously silly with someone who took it so very seriously. With a fond smile I answered his inane question about whether a rabbit or a squirrel would make a cuddlier pet.

"Personally, I think bunnies beat anything for cuteness Butters. I'm surprised you've never had one before with all the time you spend thinking about them?"

"Oh I could never have a pet. Dad says animals make everything smelly and if you pet one on it'll follow you home and give you rabies while you sleep."

I grimaced. Figures his parents would find a way to stop Butters from enjoying even the fluffier things in life. Still at least it provided a good point to end the conversation. Whenever his parents came up into conversation, I either stopped talking or ended up upsetting him by accidentally expressing my real opinion of the two worst things to happen to parenting since the Ramses.

I stood off the log we'd been sitting on, stretching out the kinks that had settled into my body. I looked down at the expression of disappointment forming on his face as he realized what time it was. I offered my best cheer-up grin and offered him a hand up. The second our hands connected I lifted, eliciting a squeak of surprise as he flew to his feet. No matter how many times I did it, it always seemed to catch him off guard. Granted the reaction from him was part of what made it so enjoyable for me. It was also kind of fun having someone small enough to toss around, especially if you've never been the strongest guy to begin with.

While he muttered under his breath and made his best attempt at an angry face, I just poked him in the sides hunting for those ticklish spots. I wasn't going to quit until the pouty faces stopped. Eventually I was victorious and he gave up trying to be unhappy. It was hard to stay sad while doubled over giggling. Once I relented he straightened back up, his arms still wrapped around his sides to shield them. It was an odd picture, him grinning like an idiot and looking for all the world like he was hugging himself.

What happened next was impulse and though I spent the rest of the day wondering about it, I could not track down a single reason that perfectly explained my motive. I could blame the fact that I was still feeling so grateful for what he'd done that morning. I could blame it on that blow to the head, getting one last sneaky trick in. Or just that he seemed so happy hugging himself that I figured maybe it would work for me too. Whatever the reason, I tossed masculine dignity to the wind and wrapped my own arms around him, pinning his hands in place.

It was fast and brief, a fleeting brush of contact then gone. I was already a safe distance away before that annoying voice in my head had a chance to make even one comment. Butters just stared in shock, his face a picture of dazed amazement. I could understand where he was coming from; I was at least as surprised as he was. I almost said something to break the awkwardness, but that was the moment when my thrice damned brain chose to make a new observation about my friend. Wow was Butters cuddly. _Fuck! I thought we were past this brain!_

I hoped he blamed the tinge of red to cross my cheeks on the cold. With a few excuses about the time and work I all but ran from the pond to Raisins. Even though I knew he wasn't following, I refused to look behind me. I wouldn't even risk catching a glimpse of him, not until I was sure my mind was back under my own control. Not when I might say or do something else stupid and ruin what was shaping up to be the only stable friendship I had left. By the time I got to work I was all but convinced I'd freaked the poor guy out. Someway to thank him for the incredibly thoughtful gift that morning.

Fortunately for my frantic worried thoughts, work was hell. The headache I had from screaming kids and chatty brain-dead bimbo waitresses in training drove every last worry about Butters from my thoughts. By Monday morning the entire incident had passed completely from my mind and thankfully the sight of Butters brought me nothing but my usual feelings of contentment. Best of all he'd put the entire incident behind himself as well. He didn't hold back or act awkward about expressing his affection in his usual small gestures nor did he suddenly abandon his grander attempts to make life better for me.

In fact he seemed more comfortable with inserting little helpful acts into my life, probably reassured by the fact that I hadn't thrown the clothing back into his face. It gave him the confidence to start his next project for improving my life, in the form of seeing to it I stopped abusing my stomach every night I worked at the garage. I usually rushed right to the work after school, trying to get as much time in as I could before it closed for the night. I didn't plan on eating those nights; it cost way too much to buy food on the way and it wasn't like I'd ever gone hungry before. I just figured I'd ignore the growls till I got home and scrounged among the expired canned food in the pantry. I don't recall ever letting that detail slip in conversation but either I did, or Butters was a lot sharper than he let on, because somehow he figured out I was skipping dinners. Apparently that idea didn't sit very well with him and he started showing up at my locker with a brown bag filled with leftovers after my last class each day I had work. I debated objecting the first time but after giving up the fight over clothing, there was no way my stomach was going to let me pass on free food. Mrs. Stotch might be a psycho bitch, but the woman could make one hell of a mean meatloaf.

In the end the little take-to-work dinners he was bringing me did a lot more than soothe my starving stomach. They also were what finally began fixing the mess that had been made of my other friendships. At that point Stan and Kyle were getting tired of being avoided as well as the feeble excuses as to why I couldn't hang out. When it suddenly became apparent that Butters knew something about what was going on in my life while they were being kept in the dark, I can only guess that they finally snapped. What did the little melvin know about what was going on with Kenny that they did not? It took two weeks of Butters showing up at my locker with a paper bag dinner before they decided they'd had enough of only asking each other that question.

I was walking to my locker, afire with the anticipation of finally being done with class for the day. For the next 20 minutes till I reached the garage, my life was temporarily my own. As I approached my locker, I traded familiar smiles with my little cheerleader, but stopped walking when I saw his eyes suddenly widen in surprise. Then I was abruptly turned around by an almost violent jerk on my shoulder, finding myself face to face with Kyle, Stan right behind, both looking outraged. Well Kyle had a look of outrage, Stan looked like he was trying but didn't have much practice. He just came off looking uncomfortable and maybe a little constipated.

"Dude, where have you been? Why don't you want to hang out anymore?"

I didn't know how to answer Kyle. I wasn't really mad at them anymore; honestly I was too tired to be mad with all the hours I was working. Still I wasn't eager to be humiliated either. I had no interest in being teased, mocked, or worse pitied for trying to pull this off. In the end it turns out I didn't have to say anything. I had forgotten to tell Butters I had wanted this hidden from everyone else. Butters had come up to my side to see what was going on and chimed up from beside me, all innocent smiles and eager to please.

"He's working fellas! Two jobs actually! Isn't it great, he's gonna save up enough to get a car so he can leave South Park some day!"

There it was truth from the mouth of babes or however that saying goes. It was one of those very rare moments in life when Kyle was struck speechless. It was kind of funny watching his jaw hang low and his eyes flip from Butters to me for confirmation.

Mustering up what courage I could, I met his stare and didn't deny it. Then I braced myself for the laughs. For the disbelief. If Cartman was there it would have happened in seconds and if it had I would have stopped being friends with them all for good. Fortunately for all of our sakes, Kyle and Stan had the sense to confront me alone. Speaking of common sense, it was Stan who broke the silence, for once speaking up before Kyle could react or explode.

"Dude! For real?! That's awesome!"

Not the most eloquent thing ever said. But it was all I needed to hear to mend the broken friendships between me and Stan. It might have even extended to fix things with Kyle too, if he hadn't chosen that moment to open his mouth and say something stupid. In the long run that seems to be part of the mystery that is Kyle, he's way too smart for his own damn good, but occasionally he talks a little faster than even his amazing brain works. This time he definitely didn't take the time to apply a polite filter to what he was saying.

"Yeah, awesome, whatever! Why in hell does he know about this and not us?!"

One green mitten pointed at Butters in condemnation and the word 'he' was laced with all the disgust Kyle could manage. If you've ever heard Kyle wax on about how much he hates the fat-ass, believe me he can fit a lot of disgust in a single word. Under that directness Butters wilted like a flower in the frost, almost tripping over his own feet as he stepped backwards, holding up the brown bag up as a shield. I guess I wasn't as drained from work as I thought I was, because I apparently still had enough energy to get mad after all. I stepped between them directing the red head's attention off the nervous blonde and onto my own angry face. My free hand slipped behind me to catch Butters' hand. My grip stopped him from retreating any further and I squeezed his hand in consolation. Stan must have caught the interaction from his viewpoint standing off to the side, because one of his eyebrow's inched up in surprise and he placed a cautionary hand on Kyle's shoulder.

"Because he was the only person who wouldn't laugh at me when I told him. He actually believes that I can do this."

"That's not fair! We would have believed you. If you had trusted us enough to tell us! Why wouldn't you tell us something like this?! It's huge! It's the kind of thing you're supposed to tell your friends."

I didn't respond at all, just stared at Kyle bluntly, the expression on my face telling him more clearly than words how much I doubted him. He had the decency to blush a little, but when he opened his mouth to speak again the anger was still etched on his face. It was obvious he was about to say something else he hadn't thought through first.

Again Stan beat him to it, tugging on Kyle's shoulder to get his attention and shutting him up with his own meaningful look before speaking overtop of his super best friend's sputters of outrage.

"He's right Kyle and you know it. If he just came up and told us that out of the blue that he was going to get a job, or buy a car, we probably would have thought he was crazy. Butters wouldn't have though. He'd believe anything."

Stan winced as soon as the last words came out of his mouth and looked at me apologetically. Lucky for him I couldn't really get mad at him for that part, Butters really would believe anything you told him. He thought Cartman in cardboard boxes made a convincing robot after all. Still I didn't think Stan was being fair. There was a difference between believing someone and believing IN someone. It was the latter that I'd really gotten from Butters. Yet I couldn't think of a way to express that, without being confusing or sounding really gay. Instead I rolled my eyes and turned, grabbing Butters by the elbow and heading for the door. Normally I didn't have him walk with me after school; it was really far for him to have to go to get back home from the garage. I wasn't about to leave him within reach of Kyle while the Jew was acting like this though and I really had to get to work.

A hand on my shoulder stopped me at the exit to the school, I turned expecting Stan. I was very surprised to see it was Kyle's freckled face, still red, though by now with just embarrassment from whatever Stan had probably said to him while I stormed off.

"I'm sorry Kenny, that didn't come out right. I guess you may have been right to trust him first. For what it's worth, I may not have believed you, but I know I wouldn't have laughed at you."

There it was, Mr. Always-has-to-be-right, coming as close as he could to admitting a mistake. It was probably the only thing that would have convinced me to forgive him. Like I said earlier, when he stops and thinks out what he's going to say, Kyle really is the smartest one of us.

After that life was a little easier. I didn't have to dodge questions about hanging out when I was working. And I didn't have to choose between Butters, or Stan and Kyle during those precious few hours I had off. Nor did I have to worry about them wanting to go to a movie or something else that cost money. Now aware of how little free time I had available, they actually shared the time. Stan at least warmed up to Butters fast enough. Kyle got as friendly as he could stand; he doesn't get attached to new people easily, unlike Stan who wears his heart on his sleeve. I know Kyle didn't dislike Butters, but I think he found the naïveté a little hard to handle.

Whatever, you can't force the ultimate optimist and a die-hard cynic together and expect them to become the best of pals just because you want them to. Thankfully for my sanity, no one ever invited Cartman during my free time. I'm pretty sure I could deal with him picking on me, I'd dealt with it for years, but if he'd made a single snide comment towards my personal cheerleader, I might have had to kill him. Jail time definitely would have put a crimp in my plans, but I think I'd have risked it to defend Butters.

But why? Somehow my feelings for the little blonde guy had gotten all crossed and twisted in my head. Ever since that stupid Sunday morning, I would occasionally look at him in the wrong way, the appreciative way. I thought it had stopped after making it safely through that next Monday, but it just kept creeping back when I least expected it and I was being forced to come up with countless logical explanations for it. For example, before Butters, my closest friend was Cartman, it should come as no surprise I was unused to having someone openly affectionate and supportive around me all the time. Stan and Kyle were great, but were definitely not going to offer me a hug when I came in to school looking like shit. _Maybe the reason I was enjoying the affection was because I'd been so starved for it myself? _There were a lot of days that I came in almost needing those hugs, after late night shifts or a sleepless night worrying about whether or not the furnace would go for good and how much a new one would cost.

On those days it was kind of hard to stick to the plan and not freak out and go back to the carefree, work-free life style of just getting by. Then I'd get my morning visit from Butters at the locker, who without a thought to embarrassment would wrap me in one of his almost bone crushing good morning hugs. Sometimes they were annoying, but on those truly horrible mornings, when it seemed like nothing was going right, they were actually kind of nice. Not that I'd ever, ever have admitted that to anyone back then.

All of this unexpected kindness sparked a very protective response from me. There wasn't much I could do to thank him for all that help. I could however make a fairly effective shield between him and some of the worst aspects of life in South Park. It wasn't exactly like I had to worry about anything bad happening to me at least. So I spent as much time with him as I could manage; trying to return the favor he gave me in having a friend who never judged. I wasn't like I was suffering during that time either, he might be a bit overly cheerful, but he managed to be surprisingly fun for a guy who didn't know any naughty jokes and was afraid to watch R rated movies.

Eventually I started thinking that when I left South Park for good it might not be a bad idea to bring him along. Not because I needed his company or anything. Kenny McCormick can take care of himself! It was just, you know, looking out for him. This place might be pretty rough on me, but in some ways it had to be even worse for him. I didn't mind it when people treat me like shit, at least not now that I know I'm going to go somewhere one day. Yet Butters didn't have a goal of his own to work for that I knew of and he actually cared about whether the regular people liked him. It must have been hard the way everyone just treated him like he didn't exist or ignored his problems. For Christ's sakes the town still let him live with a mother that had confessed to trying to kill him!

Slowly over the months of interaction there was another reason to want to bring him along when I left South Park. I was running out of logical excuses for my behavior towards him and slowly I was realizing there was only one real reason left for the way I was acting. I swear I don't know how it all started; maybe I could blame it on the blow to the head, maybe on that first behind my back hug at the Raisin's door, or maybe that awkward moment of closeness one Sunday afternoon. I definitely can't pinpoint a day when I finally stopped internally censoring myself when I called him cute in my head. Yet I know for sure that well before a full year had passed in our new friendship I had given up pretending that my feelings for him were just of the buddy-buddy variety.

At some point during those morning hugs, I started craving more than just a passive embrace. My hands stopped hanging at my side limply and finally started hugging him back. Just like that first time, it was comforting, like holding a teddy bear. You know it's just a ball of yarn and cotton, but you still get a sense of peace and warmth like it has something extra inside beyond all that fluff that can somehow make you feel better just by clutching it. Of course being a teenage boy, it didn't take a very big step to go from comfortingly holding to something a bit more amorous. As I got bolder, my arms stopped wrapping around the small of his back. Instead I let my hands rest lightly on his hips, squeezing gently and pulling him in. He never seemed to care how I hugged him as long as I did. I on the other hand found the new method much better, now I could lift him up when I pulled him in, bringing that morning fresh scent in his hair to my nose and allowing the heat of his happy sighs to brush against my neck.

I still tried to pass it off as me going soft, thinking he should get a few hugs back after all the trouble he went through for me. But there were other chips in my logical argument, such as the staring. At first only when he wasn't looking. Admiring glances, or measuring looks, I tossed them all his way as soon as his head turned. Just admiring his profile to the side, or the way his small waist just seemed to beg for an arm to wrap around it. Then I made the mistake of trying the lingering gazes when he was facing me. Suddenly I was losing track of our conversations whenever we made eye contact. I found excuses for that too, denying that the casual glances were turning into hungry looks. The problem was that with all that extra attention eventually I could recreate him in my imagination from head to toe, even the parts I wasn't supposed to know about.

Between gym class, trips to the swimming pool, and accidental glances when he changed to go somewhere, I'd somehow managed to get a fairly good idea of just how he looked under all those blue sweaters and jeans he loved to wear. He was all pale skin hugging a petite but adorable little frame. Not muscular, but who wants muscle when you can wrap your arms around a soft, slim little body and snuggle it close against you? And again there's that warm breath against your neck when you've lifted him up because he's so light. The way it feels to swing him around, his body trembling with excitement and hanging onto you for dear life. The satisfaction of knowing you could completely enclose him in your arms, stealing him away from the rest of the jealous eyes of the world. Yeah, you can have muscled if you want; his build was perfect for me. It was more than enough to cause some very vivid thoughts in this teenage boy's mind.

Which extended into fodder for some very embarrassing dreams at night. That was the straw that finally broke the camel's back and rendered any debate I might have had over my sexuality moot. You can argue with yourself and explain away long hugs, and distracted stares. I was just down that morning and needed the extra time in the embrace. I shivered because it was cold out; his breath was just making me warmer. I was tired and not really paying attention to what I was looking at. Really I was just starting into space and his face happened to be in the way. But how do you explain away dirty dreams? Kind of hard to argue with the fact that you woke up with an erection and the only thing you can remember clearly from the dream is your closest friend being half naked and moaning your name softly in his gentle southern drawl.

So there it was I liked boys, or at least one boy. I had to come to terms with my feelings, or at least stop arguing with myself so much. In the end I gave up fighting when I realized it wouldn't really change much in my life. If my friends were really my friends they'd be cool when and if I told them. If anyone else in town had a problem, I was leaving anyway in a few years. I'd just make sure whatever place I picked to move to was more friendly towards the idea.

Once I let go of that worry things just got better. I enjoyed myself a little more thoroughly during all the little contacts he initiated. I was already spending as much free time as I could with him, but now I didn't have to fight with myself while I did it. The only drawback was that I definitely didn't want to say a damned thing about it too him. How could I? After his dad put him through so much did Butters even feel comfortable with the idea of gay guys? His friendship was the only one I didn't think I could lose over this without feeling hurt. What if he had a problem with the fact that I had feelings for him? Would the hugs stop? I really didn't want the hugs to stop.

And of course if he had a problem with it would I lose his support with everything else in my life? It was selfish of me, but I didn't want to do this without his help. I'd started out just wanting to prove I could do this on my own, but ended up finding out it was nice having someone else to rely on to get me through the worst of the days. How could I give that up just to satisfy my curiosity and make a move on a guy who might not want me back? Besides, if he didn't, I'd really need that car, to not only get me out of this town, but as far away from the sting of rejection as I could get.

So turning sixteen became even more important to me. It wasn't just about proving Butters faith in me was well placed anymore. Now it was about trying to keep myself in control long enough. I wasn't sure I could last the extra years to eighteen, resisting him, if I failed the early deadline. Two extra years calmly enduring his blushing smiles, resisting the urge to go too far in those deliciously close hugs? Two more years of frustrating nights waking up with a moan escaping my lips, his voice echoing in my ears? No guy could endure that kind of torment.

So I swallowed my curiosity and tried not to spend too much time thinking about the questions ringing in my head. I couldn't find out until I got that car. Only then would it be safe to confront him and come clean. The months were adding up and sixteen was getting ever closer but it felt like it couldn't come nearly fast enough. Eventually I lost myself in the mantra, work, school, work, school, work, school, just a little longer. Time to hang out with Butters, shit he looks cute. Think about crappy summer baseball league, think about Ms. Choksondik and Mr. Mackey, think about Miss Garrison's boob job. That did it, made it another day. Then the next week starts it all anew, work, school, work, school. I had to get that car before I finally went insane


	4. Ch 3: Now We Can Begin

**A/N:** No big messages, just a general apology for the delay. Real life is one cruel mistress, no? Anywho, thanks to those who continue reading and 'alerting' it was a lovely little pinprick to my concious! I do hope this chapter does not dissapoint, it's had me in quite a state as its the first time I've uploaded a chapter for any story that has more than implied or potential physical interaction! Sadly it just felt sweet not steamy. I guess I haven't quite yet reached Harlequin Romance Writer level. Oh the ignomy! Anyway, I do hope you enjoy the chappy as much as I enjoyed writing it!

* * *

"A kiss is a lovely trick designed by nature to stop speech when words become superfluous."" ~Ingrid Bergman

FoF Chapter 3: Now We Can Begin

The waiting ended on a cold summer day. Sounds weird I know, but if you've ever been in South Park, you'd understand that summer doesn't mean warmth, not like in other places. Summer just means that the snow is gone and school is out. The weather still bounces between 40 and 60 like the little white ball in Pong. It can get passably warm, if your in the sun at least, but all it takes is a bit of a breeze to remind you that snow is around the corner and winter's crushing grip wasn't banished, just loosened for a bit.

_I can't believe I'm spacing out about this._ Unbeilvable how weird my brain can be at times. Here I am at Honest Jack's Used Cars, poised on making the most monumental decision of my soon to be 16 years of life on this earth and I'm thinking about the weather? _What the hell?_ _Why can't I focus today? _

Lucky for me, Honest Jack could care less about me staring at him blankly. He's been talking non-stop since I flashed him the envelope filled with what amounts to the last two years of planning and saving on my part. Since that moment he's been yapping away, going on and on about what great shape his cars are in. I've probably worked with more cars than he's successfully sold; at least I hope so because he keeps getting his facts wrong. That's another reason I keep spacing out, if I listened I'd be laughing at him or freaking out about how bad his cars might be if he's had a hand in fixing them up. So I guess its a good thing I keep ignoring him to reflect on how huge this is.

Then again maybe it's not that huge. It's kind of anticlimactic in some ways, I mean the decision isn't really being made right now; I made it two years ago, when I decided that I'd had enough of this damn town. This day was inevitable…at least it feels that way looking back. I'm not making a decision today, just collecting the reward. And it's not the only one I get if things go right. I can think of one other way to celebrate turning sixteen that would be just awesome, if I can get a certain guy alone, in my new car. Oh yeah, today is good. _Easy tiger. One thing at a time. A man is selling you a car here, your ticket to freedom. Think about the other thing…later; you've gotten this far, hold out a few hours more._

Still I can't stay focused staring at this Honest Jack-asses face. I turn to stare at the cars, moving away from him and towards the cars. I'll get what I need from a direct inspection, not whatever crap is spilling out of his mouth. I kick tires, peek under hoods, run my hand over seats, turn a few steering wheels, and even sit in a few just to get the feel. Honest Jack must have caught on that he wasn't really needed for this sale. He finally shut up to leave me alone with my thoughts.

_Look at them, pick one that will last the two years till you graduate and get you as far from here as possible. Do not for a second get distracted by Him. No thinking about getting Him alone. No thinking about getting to have a little talk with Leopold-._ Damn it my own brain is turning on me. What is the world coming to when a guy can't even stay excited purely about getting his first car?

Finally I finish my examination and turn to Jack. He starts to open his mouth for another round of verbal diarrhea; I stop it with a glare. I point to the few I've liked and demand only one thing from him, the only thing I'm pretty sure he won't lie about. Prices. With that information I was down to two choices, both old, both worn, both rusted, and both beautiful to my eager young eyes. Their condition didn't matter that much, I could fix them a bit more at the garage in my free time. So what to pick? The dusty red '93 or the dark blue '92?

_Which one will last me long enough to escape? Which one can I pin all of my hopes on?_ I held my envelope of money in one hand and stared at the two, knowing my destiny was finally within reach. Then yet again that morning my mind tracked back to my partner in crime. All those left over dinners smuggled to work, all those early morning hugs, those supportive smiles, even the Hello Kitty hoody my sister once hated, but now refused to put down. It had become her version of the orange parka that helped me survive my elementary school years, albeit without the misfortune that seemed to follow mine. Butters loved it when he caught her wearing it those few times I let him come over to my place.

_I should give up fighting it. Clearly, I'm hopeless. _Here I was again; about to buy a car and still pouring over the memories that lead me to this place, all the way back to that first time I told Butters this day would come. It still meant so much how he never once laughed or doubted it. Suddenly, I realized there wasn't really a choice at all; I knew which car I had to get. He always did love blue…

**

* * *

**

I drove to his house that day, laying on my horn loudly when I pulled in front, heedless just this once of his asshole parents. Today was my day; they could shove their opinions where the sun doesn't shine. He must have been expecting me, because he was out the front door before the second jubilant honk of the horn. The door actually slammed loudly behind him for once. I could almost picture the irritated face of Mr. Stotch as he very likely fell off his seat in the living room in surprise at the slammed door. That image only made the moment better.

I jumped out of the car, running around it to meet him at the sidewalk, eager to show off my new prize. I didn't have a chance to gloat or toss out a greeting; however, as I was bowled over by the hug, or should I say tackle he threw me. The smaller boy's arms came crashing together around my neck. In response my own hands snapped to his waist out of habit. Gallantly I attempted to steady the leaping Leopold. _Heh...say that five times fast. _Still the impact drove me backwards, which only dragged him with me and caused his body to teasingly rub and bump against mine.

This of course gave me a recklessly great idea. Taking advantage of my superior height, I deliberately leaned backwards in his embrace. The arms locked tightly around my neck did not release, causing his smaller body to lift off the ground. Gravity pulled more of his form against mine, a sensation I was enjoying so much that I forgot to worry about my own balance. Thankfully the newly bought car was already proving it's worth; its solid form kept me from falling down. I ended up in a reclined pose against it, my arms and eyes full of one very excited Butters Stotch. Completely oblivious to my ulterior motive for the lean or our very intimate position, Butters chatted at me rapidly while his puppy like wide eyes tracked back and forth between my smirking face and the car.

"I knew you'd do it Kenny, n-n-nothing's was ever gonna stop you! And it's blue!! It's so cool! G-golly your gonna be able to go wherever you want now! It's so shiny, an' I bet it's really fast! An' you can fix it up ta be even faster at the garage! It can be like your own race car, like Red Racer, only better! Can it be Blue Racer?!"

Relaxing happily with a warm and animated Stotch boy in my arms as he confessed his complete confidence in me, I found the car dropping down in my daily achievements a notch already. It became the second best thing to happen all day as I flushed under the combination of our cozy embrace and his obvious praise for my accomplishment. Two great things so far and it wasn't even noon, someone up there must have thought after about a million deaths Kenny McCormick deserved one perfect day.

Ever selfish, I wasn't satisfied with just this much for the day either; it was time I set about preparing for what might just be the perfect night if my luck held out. Now that I'd gotten the car, it was so easy to believe the little blonde in my arms was right about anything being within my grasp. Especially since he was technically in my grasp at that exact moment, even if just literally. Of course it wasn't just a hug I was setting my heart on_._ No mantra tonight, no picturing a pair of malformed Garrison boobs to help resist the temptation in front of me. I'd barely managed the past two years only because I'd had no choice. There was no way I was letting it wait another fucking day now.

In an attempt at gallantry, I reluctantly let one arm drop from his waist to open the nearby car door. Getting the hint he smiled brilliantly and released his hold on my neck to slide down my body to the ground. I regretted the loss of that small warmth nestled against my own, but it was necessary if we were to enjoy my car. Also I'm not too proud to admit that his friction heavy descent down my taller frame got my pulse racing. I soothed my displeasure as we finally broke contact by admiring the view of his perky little ass as he slipped around the open door and jumped into the passenger seat. Purely out of habit I began to unconsciously picture Mr. Mackey, but I squashed the image away violently. I was intent on fully enjoying the first look of the little blonde sitting in my car. _My car…I could really get to like thinking that. _

Closing the door quickly, I tried for a calm walk, but ended up running around the front of the vehicle and childishly hopping into the driver seat. Taking a moment, I composed myself, adopting an air of seriousness and coolness that befitted the maiden voyage of Kenny McCormik's freshly dubbed 'Blue Racer.' My attempt at calm and collected was forgotten when the engine came alive accompanied by a most undignified cheer from Butters. In the face of such innocent delight, I abandoned the charade for a grin nearly as large as the one on his adorable face. Of course I schooled the grin into something that I hoped was seductive and charming before I let him see it.

"Where to first Butters?"

"You have to go show everyone! Stan and Kyle first, they'll love it!"

**

* * *

**

Stan and Kyle were not cooperating with my perfect day. A phone call to both cellphones had turned up nothing, and a stop at Stan's house had been fruitless. And I choose that word deliberately, because over the past two years I'd learned they were of the 'fruity' variety. I should probably mention that by this time I'd gotten around to confessing my feelings on boys to Stan and Kyle. I wasn't even that nervous about telling them about my crush on Butters. Of course it would have been silly to be nervous coming out to them, considering the entire time I was telling them they were holding hands. And not in that friendly 'let's walk somewhere together' way. No they were clutching each other in that fingers twined, palms sweaty, 'I never want to let go of this hand ever' way.

Yeah, the irony was a little rich. I spent all that time worrying about how it might affect me, being a gay student in South Park, and after all that stress, I wasn't even going to have the honor of being the first gay kid in our High School.

I mean sure I may have figured it out first, but technically it didn't count till I was with a guy and out, right? Till then it was all wishing, theory, and really hot dreams. And porn. A lot of porn.

So there'd be no trend setting moment of courage for me. At this point when I did come out, I'd probably be accused of just following the 'fashion,' like the metro thing a few years back. Stan and Kyle had already claimed first and second almost three months before now. Craig and Tweek followed suit less than a week later. At this point I'd lost track, but I think I'd be seventh, maybe eighth, and that was only if I got Butters tonight and announced it tomorrow. The way things were going, if I waited any longer I wouldn't even be in the first ten. Why was South park so gaytastic? Maybe it was something in the water?

There was a bright side to all of that rampant homo-ness. I was pretty damned sure Butters was cool with other people being gay. I wouldn't lose him as a friend, not seeing the way he happily watched movies with me and Stan and Kyle, even after those two became an item. Well watched movies with me anyway. I don't think Stan and Kyle even know what the titles are of the movies we watch these days. The second their parents leave us alone to watch something they get busy trying to set the longest-face-sucking record. Usually on the couch. Right next to me. While Butters is on the other side of me, clueless as can be that I'd like to be competing with them. Yeah the past three months have been _real fun_ for Kenny. It's not really that fair. Specially since I bet we could kick their asses in longest kiss. _Who knows, maybe if tonight goes well, I can test that theory next movie night._

With that pleasant thought in my head, I walked up to Kyle's door and knocked. There was no answer so I did the natural Kenny thing, I turned the knob. _What do we have here? Someone forgot to lock up. _

When most people find an unlocked door, their instinct is probably to shut it and walk away. Especially if no one's answered their knocks. I guess I never really qualified as normal, because I don't see an unlocked door as an oversight that needs fixed, I see it as an more of an opportunity. My first thought was to go right on in.

I just want it on record that I was being motivated purely by goodness and noble intentions. I just wanted to search for clues as to where Kyle might be, that was all. I swear to God. I certainly wasn't going to root around in his room looking for something fun or embarrassing. Nope, not even tempted. And If I somehow stumbled across Kyle's well hidden diary? The one he keeps in his dresser, third drawer down on the far right side under his shirts? Well if I did I'd certainly not read it. Well not all of it. Just enough to see if he had written down where he planned to go today. It was bound to be somewhere in between the first page…and the last.

A smirk was already forming on my face as I opened the door a little wider, listening for a response from within. Before I entered I tossed a quick look over my shoulder, checking to see if Butters would stay occupied while I went 'exploring,' through the Broflovski residence. I didn't want him to know, he was sure to disprove. There was just no reasoning with him when it came to a little harmless mischief. Luckily his face was a mirror of concentration as he fiddled with the buttons on my radio trying to figure out how to set the stations. I told him he could have half, and he was trying to figure out which four stations he wanted the most. I felt bad limiting him to so few, but if I hadn't I'd have come back to find all of my channels saved with soft rock, cheesy pop stations, Christian rock, and romantic Country. _Shudder_. There are limits to my willingness to suffer, even for love. Yeah love…I said it, all the cheesy longing stares and nights of sweaty dreams…if this isn't love its one hell of wicked crush.

Stealthily I slipped into the house, navigating the stairs towards Kyle's room. Too soon I was at his door, one hand at the knob ready to slip in. Ready, that is, until I heard a soft moan from the other side. Not one of those pained moans, from headaches or too much homework. Nope, I knew what that moan meant. I made a similar one sometimes in my room when the door was closed and my magazines were out. It was one of those throaty, deep, 'touch me there again,' sounds. The ones that start in your chest that you make when words can't describe how incredibly good you just felt. I leaned an ear against the door to confirm my suspicions.

"Oh god, Kyle, please do that again."

_Can I call it or what?_ I smirked, at first at the humor and my own wit. Then the smirk turned a little evil. Ok, a lot evil. It seems I was going to get another gift for my perfect day, revenge.

You see, I owed Stan and Kyle for the past three months. They had been constantly shoving their make out sessions and worse in my face, knowing the entire time I was powerless to act on my own desires. They spent an all of our group time going at it. It started out cute, but eventually it turned into torture. And I had begun to suspect it wasn't just young love, or whatever the hell you want to call it. Not when it started up every single time it was just the four of us. No one could be that horny. Well……ok I'm that horny, so I guess they could be, but still it was pretty damned convenient that their boners switched to the upright and locked position, the second it turned into Kenny, Butters, Stan and Kyle time. Especially convenient since it seemed to be proving a point Kyle had been trying to make. That he felt I needed to grow a pair and ask Butters out instead of whining to the two of them about how hard it was to keep waiting, the instant Butters went home. Every time they started grinding I could almost hear Kyle's thoughts ranting at me, 'See what your missing? See what you could be doing? Give up and ask already you pussy.' Oh no, Stan might be innocent here, I could believe he was an unwitting pawn seeing as his hormones were pretty much at the Jew's beck and call. But Kyle, oh Kyle you Jew bastard, you were doing this to me on purpose.

And now on the other side of this door my red haired nemesis was finally in a…vulnerable position. _Oh please god let the door be…YES unlocked!_ With a soft twist I turned the knob, closed my eyes, and pictured my inspiration. Bulging waist, two piece dark blue business suit, hideous legs, all topped by gigantic red hair wrapped up into a bun that was almost as tall as the rest of her. An angry expression of disproval to the world that had earned her the title Biggest Bitch in the world a hundred times. And most importantly, that annoying high pitched nasaly voice and horridly stereotypical Jewish accent that had a list of ridiculous nicknames for her know-it-all son. Nicknames like-

"Bubby? Your father and I got home early today and I just wanted to see- Oh my god, Kyle! What are you doing to Stan?!"

"Oh fuck?! MOM?! What are you-"

"Jesus Christ! Miss Broflovski it's not what it-"

The two guys on the bed were rolling around in the sheets trying to cover themselves, while turning twin looks of shock and horror towards the door. The picture was glorious, worth every minute of torture Kyle ever inflicted on me, especially when the look in his eyes melted into embarrassment and rage when he saw me. I lost my balance, laughing so hard I fell onto my ass.

Stan took it better than Kyle. Stan stopped trying to cover up, letting the sheet's expose that ridiculously hot chest of his as he fell onto his back in the bed with relief and a shaky sigh. Kyle on the other hand was turning several shades of red, pulling his sheets to the neck while his eyes bulged angrily. He went as far as to raise a fist threateningly, but that required letting go of the blanket which started to slip down his skinny frame, past his stomach and below his..._Well hello there._ I finally got the answer to one of those questions I'd been wondering …is he as red and curly down there as he is on top? The answer by the way is a big yes. He saw my smirk and the angle of my gaze and almost fell off the bed as he lunged for the falling sheets. I just laughed harder.

"Oh…ha…god…Ky- heh…Kyle, y-you should see your face," I managed to gasp out before another round of laughing rendered me breathless.

Even Stan started laughing a little, turning Kyle's anger at least briefly on Stan. It was hard to tell where red hair ended and red skin began at that point. Frankly I think Stan was awfully brave laughing with a rabid Jew straddling his delicate parts.

"Don't you dare think this is funny Stan! I swear to god if you ever want me to do this again, you'll get mad. Right now damn it!"

That touched off more laughing from Stan and myself. Amidst side shaking chuckles I weakly got back to my feet and struggled my way towards the hallway. I had to get out of the room before he said anything else and I died from laughing. That'd probably ruin my plans for the day, though it would be an awesome way to go compared to some of my deaths.

Kyle noticed my retreat and almost lunged off the bed, further tangling himself in Stan's legs and his blankets. Frantically he looked around himself for a weapon while I started to inch out the door. I tossed my parting comment to Stan who seemed more likely to hear it than Kyle at the moment.

"Butters and I are downstairs with my _new _car. If you guys wanna help initiate its maiden ride, you have ten minutes to…finish whatever you were doing. I hope that's enough time for Kyle to find that spot again!"

Kyle's eyes widened and one of his hands reached for something heavy. I just managed to close the door before it sounded a resounding thump as something solid, probably a text book, shook the wooden timbers. With another laugh I headed back to the car to see what music Butters had found.

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, I'd endured four annoying country songs and in every one the poor bastard singing had lost his love, his life, his friends, his dog, and worst of all, god help him, his truck. In spite of the music, and the fact that it was well past my ultimatum, I was unwilling to leave. I had given them the extra five minutes because I really wanted them along. That and I was sure with enough time Stan could work his almost hypnotic charm on Kyle and calm him down. Just before I gave up on that hope, they both popped out of the front door, Kyle still buttoning up his shirt and Stan adjusting his hat. Kyle seemed in a good mood, or at least a non-homicidal one ,so I assumed Stan had done a good job of working his magic. A very good job, I realized when I saw the satisfied smile on Stan's face that made it abundantly clear why they'd taken the extra time getting ready. _Only Stan coudl convince Kyle to finish after that. Lucky bastard._

The rest of the afternoon devolved into gunning the engine on backroads and spinning around town honking as we passed the stunned faces of friends from school. As the sun was starting to set we grabbed a bite. Naturally I insisted on a drive-thru since it was a celebration of my car and all. I even surprised everyone by making it my treat since I had ended up spending less than I thought I would on the car. That and I probably owed Kyle for being such a good sport after the stunt I pulled. With full stomachs and the wind roaring through the windows, we turned on the radio and took one last loop around town. Thankfully, seeing as the windows were down and people could have heard us, the music was now Alternative Rock. Kyle and Stan had begged until Butters changed the station.

And they had to beg him to get it changed, I laid out the rules of Kenny's car pretty plainly once the radio came on. Butters had permanent shotgun rights and all the power that entailed. Butters grinned happily at that announcement before looking at me questioningly when I mentioned all the 'rights and benefits,' part. I just gulped and smiled weakly before telling him I'd explain later. In the backseat Kyle rolled his eyes while Stan winked at me encouragingly. The whole scene seemed to remind Kyle that if things went well for me he'd only have one more night to torment me with what he was getting and I wasn't. With a vengeance he pounced on Stan in the back. The poor guy gave a fight…a weak one, before giving into the relentless lips and hands of his boyfriend. Butters opened his mouth in a little shocked 'O' before turning face forward and smiling, adorably happy for them.

I didn't have the luxury of turning away. Kyle, the crafty bastard, conveniently positioned Stan and himself very plainly in the vision of my rear-view mirror. Every now and then he looked up and grinned teasingly as our eyes locked in the reflection. I endured the hot scene for about ten minutes, before I hit the gas and sped to Kyle's house. There I opened the door and let the two breathless lovers out. Stan had that glazed over look and a sheepish grin as they got out. And very tousled hair. At some point Kyle had managed to remove his cap for extra gripping and tugging on his hair.

Kyle was clearly feeling far more satisfied with himself and our little game. As the door shut and the windows went up, Kyle mouthed, 'good luck,' to me. I had to smile back at that. Yeah the Jew played dirty, but he wasn't being cruel. Knowing how his mind worked, he probably thought that whole little display might encourage me, or at least make me aroused enough to not 'pussy out' as he worried I might. I could have told him such worries would have been unfounded. There was no way I was backing out. The night was young and so was I. There was one last plan up my sleeve.

It wasn't exactly the novelist of ideas I'm ashamed to admit. My plan actually relied upon a rather old-hat cliché. We were going to a movie. Specifically a Drive-in movie since I had decided my car would be my good luck talisman. I realize that a movie is not exactly the most original of first dates, but I was going for tried and true. Especially considering I hadn't even told my adorable companion we were going on a date. I was going to need all the help I could get pulling it off. If the magic of the Drive-in movie had worked for thousands of nervous teenage guys before me; surely it could help me cap off my day by finally getting a chance to put the moves on Butters.

So when we 'just happened' to pass the Drive-in on the way to taking Butters home and I saw that _Killer Zombie Slashers 6_ was playing, I cajoled, teased, and begged shamelessly until he agreed to watch the movie with me. He relented at the begging, when I convinced him that it would be the absolute perfect end to my day and that it was clearly to scary to watch alone. Really I could care less about the movie, I certainly never saw or even heard of the first five. Yet I somehow managed to convince Butters that it was just too awesome a movie to pass up.

Thirty minutes into the movie, the death count was almost as high as the first ten years of my life and every scene was filled with the tacky acting and over the top gore its name promised. Whoever the director was, I could have built a shrine in his honor, for every unnecessary blood spurt caused my unknowing date to squeal in terror and inch a little closer to me.

I was barely bothered by the scenes myself. You die once yourself and the cinema style deaths lose their impact. It also helped that I'd seen real life zombies. Hell I've even_ been_ a zombie once. It also probably helped that I wasn't really focused much on the movie; I had found something far more entertaining to keep my attention.

Nestled right between us was a single cardboard bucket filled with over salted, greasy popcorn. Butters was completely _engrossed,_ emphasis on the gross part, in the movie. He was so focused that when he was hungry he would reach for the popcorn distractedly, never actually looking down. Every time his hand started to head for another handful of the artery clogging kernels, I placed my own hand there first, to lay in ambush. Then there'd be a moment of _accidental_ contact, where my fingers would innocently slide against his. What can I say for myself? Cheap thrills work for me. Slowly working up my nerves by gauging his reaction to these little brushes I would prolong the contact a little longer each time.

Eventually it would last long enough that our fingers would intertwine and I'd feel my pulse skip a beat as his soft and slippery digits wound tightly into mine. Suddenly he would realize it was Kenny and not popcorn he was picking up. With a bashful smile and a blush he'd turn away from the movie, look at our hands as if absolutely amazed at the coincidental contact occurring _again,_ before turning those sky blue little eyes at me and giggling. A casual wink in reply from me and his face would flash pink as he quickly averted his eyes back to the bloodbath in front of us. Meanwhile his little hand would pull from mine and drag whatever kernels of popcorn he'd managed to hold on to towards his mouth. From there I'd enviously watch that nimble little tongue of his snap up the popcorn and lick his glistening fingers clean.

This happened at least three or four times, before I realized my endurance was at its limit. If I had to watch his little finger licking act one more time I'd lose what restraint I had, leap onto the passenger side and ravage the poor guy. It was clearly time for drastic measures. Casually I lowered the windows, thankful for the first time in ages that South Park could get so damned cold even on summer nights. With all the intensity of a hunting hawk I watched and waited for the very first shiver or shake, any sign that the distracted blonde would realize it was getting cold. As soon as I saw that first tremble in his tiny frame, I yawned and extended my arms in a ridiculously transparent stretch that happened to end above his shoulders.

I know, I know…cliché, if you have any complaints you can blow me. Well not literally, I'd rather save that particular job for someone else. Besides this wasn't about being creative or fancy, I needed guaranteed results before my heart and my libido tag teamed my brain into doing something really stupid. Honestly, I'd have tossed on a high school letterman jacket on and played some corny '80's romantic songs on the radio if I thought it'd have helped my chances.

Desperately attempting to appear completely casual I lowered my arm until it lay gently across his back, letting my hand come to rest on his right shoulder. I tried my hardest to make it look accidental but for anyone else it would never have worked. I was silently thankful that the only person in the entire world naïve enough to be fooled by any of this was the boy my arm was now quivering slightly against. Only once my hand had gently clasped against his upper arm, did he notice. He turned those twin irises of adorable grayish blue to focus on me curiously. I tried to look completely innocent under that stare, but it was hard to not lose myself in lovesick gazing at his puppy like expression. His eyes seemed to demand some explanation, but my brain was now several steps behind the action, still giggling like an idiot that I'd managed to get my arm around Butters. With horror I felt the silence drag and reluctantly opened my mouth to speak. The only problem was there was still no response or sign of intelligence from my distracted mind. _What the fuck am I going to say!?_

I was saved from turning into a babbling puddle of stupidity by a loud cheesy scream from some bimbo being eviscerated in the film. Her poorly performed shriek of horror shattered the moment and his head whipped back to the movie, oblivious to the affect he was having and how close he'd come to undoing me. Thankful for about the hundredth time that night that I'd picked this movie, I discarded my plans to build the director a shrine and decided I'd have to dedicate an entire religion to the man. Kennism was going to take the religious world by storm, in ways David Blaneism never did.

Now that I'd achieved contact, I had a new problem. I was stuck trying to figure out what to do with the popcorn bucket that was now an obstacle between us. I very briefly debated placing it in my lap, hoping for perhaps an accidental grope from Butters. In spite of the lecherous smile that image brought to my face, I knew there'd be no way even Butters could be fooled by that one. Sadly I resigned myself to the fact that for the first time in my life, I was going to have to sacrifice food. Even more blasphemous, food I'd paid for.

I needed some excuse to toss it, so I turned to the movie and waited for a predictable scare on screen. I knew one was coming when the actors split up and the dumbest and sluttiest of the still living girls began walking to a door that you just knew had a legion of zombies on the other side.

The door creaked open and everyone present at the drive-in was already half closing their eyes and leaning back in preparation for the bloody moment. Everyone, except poor Butters that is. It was so obvious that he didn't watch enough of these movies. He was the only person watching who leaned in, eyes wide, completely curious as to what might be on the other side of the door. Perhaps it was a puppy? Maybe a clown? Better yet could it be some hero who had come to show them the way to safety? Sorry Butters, no such luck. Surprise! The dumb broad is face to face with a rotting pile of flesh and in the first five seconds loses half her face.

Butters jumped back against the chair, squeaking in fright and I joined in for the first time since the movie started, pretending to be just as frightened. I swear I should have been on the screen; my performance definitely put any of the actors in the movie to shame. Shockingly my knee bumped the popcorn right to the floor. It really hurt ruining perfectly good food, but sacrifices had to be made! Butters didn't notice the fallen popcorn, thank god. He's so sweet he might have tried to clean it up and delayed everything.

The final obstacle removed, I began cautiously inching my way towards the boy I'd been focused on all evening. Luckily this car was built in the old style; there was just a movable armrest between the two front seats, not a shift stick or gap between the seats. I'd planted that armrest in the permanently upright position the instant I'd decided Butters would always have first rights to the passenger seat.

Finally my body was actually reacting as if I was watching a scary movie. Inside my heart was pumping blood faster than it was squirting from the random hitchhiker now being killed. The fingers snuggled against his shirt were trembling and my stomach was twisting and turning. I might have to take back all those times I teased Stan for barfing on Wendy as a kid, because my stomach was very much tempted to do a rather un-Kenny like thing and reject everything I'd eaten that day.

In spite of the brisk night air I had deliberately let into the car, I was breaking out in a sweat. The car felt intolerably warm to me by the time our hips brushed and his side finally came into contact with mine. Then it was done. I could relax a little as he was finally nestled between my arm and my side. I wasn't sure if I had fooled him. At that point I don't know if it mattered to me anymore. It didn't matter to him either apparently; because that was when he took the offer my warm body was making and snuggled in even closer. He effectively rendered the planning part of my brain useless as the blood shifted away from my head and towards…other parts. Fortunately at that point I didn't need a plan anymore; thousands of years of genetic imperative were rising to the fore in the form of a warm surge of hormones that left no room for questions, doubts, or fears.

Every thought fell away as I stared down at the blonde nestled into my shoulder. My eyes explored the map of ragged valleys and mountains that his untamable spikes of straw yellow hair created. I let my free hand drift over to gently run through the tangle. Not to straighten it, I was enjoying the messy display far too much. I merely wanted to savor the soft silky feel against my fingertips. Then he turned to face me, once again his expression a picture of puzzled confusion. I let my hand slip down the side of his face, calloused fingers tracing a perfectly smooth cheek. They came to rest under his chin, my thumb and fingers cupping his face, turning it up to a more inviting angle.

"K-kenny?"

I didn't trust myself to answer and prayed that the intensity of my stare was making my intentions clear. I released his chin, but he held the position, face still upturned to me. I hoped this was some subtle form of permission and let my hand slip along his neck before lowering to trace his collarbone until his body shivered with something other than the cold.

The confusion was fast fading from his eyes in the face of my not so subtle caress. It was being replaced by something different, something far more primal than I ever thought to see from Butters. I wouldn't go as far as to say it was lust I saw; I don't think he was capable of something that base. It was definitely a craving though, he knew there was something being offered and part of him was hungry to accept. Before that plainly visible need, I was powerless to deny him even if I'd wanted to.

I'd barely moved when he reacted. I was still slowly inching in when his eyes closed and his lips parted slightly in invitation. The display shredded my restraint and I closed the distance between us in an almost violent rush. In my dreams we'd kissed a hundred times, hard, soft, slow, fast, I'd imagined it in countless ways. Not one of them came close to the reality of moment. The second our lips touched, everything faded away except that point of contact.

His lips parted wider, stretching to match my larger mouth. Doing so left him vulnerable. There was nothing to stop my tongue from darting nervously past my own lips, tentatively entering the warm, moist cavern of his mouth. His own tongue trembled and flinched back at first, almost afraid of the contact, until I coaxed and teased it into responding. Then it was a furious tangle, a twisting writhing contact as his tongue thrust past and into my own mouth. I would have been amazed at his reaction if I hadn't been too busy savoring the sensation. Funny how in every dream of this moment, I'd never actually considered what his kiss would taste like. Yet now it was all I could think about. Buttery popcorn, salt, warn coke, and beneath it all something else. Something uniquely his that I couldn't name and don't think I would ever be able to forget. Something that was going to make every dream kiss after tonight so much better.

Time slipped past me as I lost myself in learning him. I learned that his lips were soft and supple, yet textured enough to provide a thrilling friction when they moved and pressed tightly against my own. I learned that when I curled my tongue against his own, he'd moan into me, sending a shiver of sound through our shared contact to resonate in my jaw. I learned if I pressed hard enough I could seal us together letting him steal the very breath from me when he panted. I learned that if I pulled back just a little, he'd follow, desperate to prolong the kiss, pressing our lips back together with a shocking savagery that sent my heart racing impossibly faster. My tongue learned every tooth, every inch of his cheek, and the countless ridges on the roof of his mouth.

The learning left me breathless, left me hungry, left me eager to teach myself everything he'd allow. With a will almost their own, my hands joined in the exploration, moving in paths along his body that only my eyes had ever dared trace before. My fingertips splayed across the smooth skin of his back, tracing the small knobs of his spine. They dragged a path upward from his hips to his shoulder blades, curving up and over his collarbone. When they reached the front I traced the raised skin of each nipple and drifted playfully down the ribs to settle across his flat, quivering stomach. With each touch I drew moans and cries that I eagerly swallowed in our kisses. I mercilessly repeated every gesture that evoked a sound, as if he was an instrument and I a musician intent on mastering every note and chord he could produce.

He was not idle during this time either. He tugged and gripped at my arms and back, clinging to my body as if he were trying to anchor himself against the wave of sensations that were carrying him so far past anything he'd ever imagined in his innocent life. Meanwhile his hips ground into me and both of our bodies pressed tightly, crushing every inch of air out of the space between us. I was positive he had no idea just what those desperate thrusting motions his body made were doing to the stiffening need in my pants. With every brush, the pressure was awakening an insistence in my groin. In response to that demand my hands locked into an iron grip on his hips and ruthlessly rubbed our bodies together. Slowly I could feel through our close contact, a rising hardness in his pants that was calling demandingly to the hands I'd kept safely locked at his waist.

I was all too aware of the beast rising inside me. Yet I knew that the squirming, sensual, tantalizing body that moved against mine was acting purely on instinct and was so very unprepared for the looming conclusion our bodies were reaching towards. It was perhaps the hardest thing I ever did in my life, pulling back from that brink and resisting the invitation he was unknowingly offering. I forcefully pulled us apart, pushing back on his hips and leaning out of his kiss. I had to look away to stick to my decision. His flushed face, parted lips, glazed eyes, and tousled hair were too tempting for any sane man to resist. I tried to ignore the way his hips still squirmed under my hands, or the way he leaned in to me, chasing after my lips with his own. Thankfully he gave up with an arousing moan of loss and settled his face against my chest. His entire body heaved with the exertion of trying to regulate his breathing. I could sympathize; I was sucking cold air into my lungs greedily as well. I leaned against the car's headrest, letting the chilly material drain the heat from my burning face while my arms moved to settle more comfortably and innocently across his back. His own grip on my shoulders loosened as his hands met in a more casual loop behind my neck. We were slowly recovering from the ordeal, yet I was still fending off the steady arousal that he evoked. The hot spot where his face rested against my thin damp shirt, was far too close to my still rapidly beating heart. The heavy sound of his panting, the tremble in his arms, it was all still testing the limits of my control to contain the amorous response within me.

I didn't resist for myself. I was ready; I was so very, very ready for this. But I was not so sure he was and I was not going to ask him while he was lost in feelings he'd most certainly never thought about before. I was not going to take what I wanted in a rush, despoiling his innocence in a fit of animal hunger. When I took it, and it would be me, now that I had proof he wanted me I wasn't going to let that honor fall to anyone else, it would be in a moment worthy of every silly little fantasy or romantic dream he'd ever had. He wouldn't be lost in a confused surge of hormones when he decided he was ready. He would consciously decide he needed this, needed me. I wanted him very aware that it was Kenny McCormick he was choosing to give himself to. Now that I knew how he felt, I was going to woo Leopold Butters Stotch until the boy realized just what an amazing thing he had going. It wasn't arrogance that made me think that. For him I would be amazing, I'd be everything he'd ask of me, and even things he didn't know to ask for. There was no one in the world who was going to be willing to do as much as I would to keep getting kisses from those lips. I was hooked on that taste from the first hint of his unique flavor and I had no interest in finding out if I could settle for whatever someone else could offer. I wanted him, and not just for one hot and heavy night. I wanted forever, if he could be a part of it.


	5. Ch 4: A Time to Break Silence

**A/N:** Surprise! I'm not dead. Just wishing I was! Sorry for the huge amount of delay on all stories and this one in particular. Moving, work, grad school applications, all that annoying REAL LIFE...it's an unnecessarily long and involved story [and that's coming from someone whose idea of a one-shot turns into three chapters minimum.] Oh and apparently I've accidentally kicked a puppy or something lately because karma's just been hounding me. No sooner had things slowed down enough for me to get a nice update for all of my stories in the works then things went sour again. I was setting up to spam you with a chapter for each story when my PC died. And a day later, the Back up USB flash drive that I kept all my stories, Photoshop projects, etc stored on snapped while in my laptop. Thankfully my laptop and Back up-Back up Flash drive [yes I am that OCD] are still safe, but sadly they were at least a few months out of synch from the pc and primary back updrive. Still, thanks to the lovely Bethany and a the one spot of good luck this alone was spared the horrific delay as this one chapter update was saved in my hotmail 'sent folder.'

It may be about 1.5k words shorter than you are used to in FoF...but I didn't want to take anymore chances for my luck to cause the entire internet to fail or something else silly. Who knows what disaster might befall my laptop as punishment from the fiction gods for delaying so long with updates. Hopefully in a week or two when Best Buy finishes repairing either my PC or my flashdrive there will be more updatifyication!! If not...well I can just restore them from scratch. I still have the outlines for those chapters after all.

I do want to take a moment to thank everyone who kept reading, reviewing, and enjoying this story even after it hit 3+ months without an update. It was never an intention of mine to let it slide so far behind, in fact this was supposed to be bloody done by now. Still it was very nice to see that people were still finding it and enjoying it! I'd keep this note going, but I seriously doubt any of you put the story on alert just to read my little author notes. I mean...they're great notes..._, but ah...fudge it! On with the show!

Love to y'all,

Sky

P.S. - Can you guess the pattern in chapter titles? I'm only asking this because my roomate honestly thought the chapter title was due to how long it had been since an update. It isn't. I'm one of those people who has a tinsy touch of OCD when they pick chapter titles. It changes for every story but there always HAS to be a theme. [excluding prologue titles of course.] Matching a chapter title to the content AND some random or not-so-random theme is a bit insane...but hey...we all have our quirks, congratulations on pointing out one of mine! I am curious though can someone guess the theme that the non-prologue chapters in this story are being selected on? 3

* * *

"Spiteful words can hurt your feelings, but silence breaks your heart." ~Somebody

FoF Chapter 4: A Time to Break Silence

There's something funny I learned about romance in the early months of our relationship. And that is that the idea of romance and the reality of it are nothing alike. According to the cheesy romantic comedies and Hallmark cards, romance is all about special intimate acts. Quiet dates, personal letters, whispered promises, all those private little displays of your feelings that build a connection between two people. If we'd started dating in mid-summer it might have worked out that way. I might have actually had a chance to go about things properly with Butters. As it was we started in late summer, with less than a week before the first day of school. Sadly all the hustle and bustle of preparing for school pushed my plans back. And that meant I had to try and be romantic during school.

That's where the reality and truth about romance differ. I had to face the fact that romance, at least in small town high school, isn't even remotely about intimacy. Whispered words don't travel far over the noisy bustle of a cafeteria. And when you raise your voice to be heard, things go quiet just long enough for everyone near you to hear exactly what you just called your boyfriend. Then the girls at the table next to yours start giggling nonstop. I don't think _Buttercup _was that funny of a nickname, but after that I couldn't get a single word in edgewise to him over the high pitched, helium voiced girls cooing and pointing at us.

As for private notes, those usually end up in the hands of nosy friends or worse…nosy teachers. Not that I didn't give it a try for awhile. I had a lot to say to him and obviously talking it out at lunch was a bust. Notes worked...for a day or two. I thought I'd figured out how to make it work at last. At least until Butters was caught receiving one of those notes in math class. To my horror the teacher didn't destroy the note, not our math teacher, she was a firm believer that the best way to get note passing stopped was to embarrass the receiver into never accepting notes again. So she insisted Butters read the entire thing out loud. In this particular case her efforts didn't quite hit who they were targeting. Butter's couldn't have been happier at the idea of sharing his boyfriend's awesome poem.

Now I'm not a deeply religious guy, in spite of having met both the man upstairs and the one below. It's not that i don't believe in them, I just don't think they believe in me very much. Not enough to ever go out of their way and give a guy a hand. In that moment; however, I was willing to give them a second chance. I'd have sold my soul to the highest bidder if either of them could have prevented what was about to happen. Sadly the school wasn't annihilated in divine lightning or infernal fire. And Butters, he was no help either. A normal person would have skimmed over some of my horrible attempts at poetry or at least skipped the part where I compared him to various flowers and small animals. But Butters was quite thorough in his chipper reading, sharing every last verse with a smile on his face. At least he wasn't smiling right at me while he read it. I had some anonymity at first. Not total mind you, Stan and Kyle knew who wrote the letter and were both laughing at me the entire time, but at least everyone else was just giggling at Butters. Even that small blessing was short lived though. Just as he reached the end of the note and I dared to hope that the worst was over; I saw him turn the paper over and barely kept from shouting at him to stop. Butters always obeyed an order from a teacher and she'd told him to read the entire note. So of course that must include the little part on the front, where I'd written, 'To Buttercup, from Ken.' The writer of the note identified, the other twenty eight heads turned to stare at me, every last one laughing their asinine heads off. Excluding the teacher of course, she had the decency to appear as mortified as I felt. The only good to come of that entire incident was the dramatic change in our class policy. After that day all notes anyone was caught passing in math went straight to the trash can unopened. It was a small victory for math students everywhere, but at the cost of one Kenny McCormick's dignity. One small consolation prize, I did get a peck on my cheek after math class from Butters. At least one person liked my poetry...I just had to remind myself that somehow that was worth the horrible jokes I'd be suffering soon.

If that had been the entirety of the backlash from the note reading I could have been ok. I wasn't ashamed to be dating the cutest, nicest guy to ever attend South Park High. Yes it was ridiculously humiliating to have your poem read out loud, but the story was the gossip of all the lunch tables for only a day. The nice thing about high school is that people get humiliated constantly. My time in the spotlight was short-lived. No, it wasn't the students that were the problem for me after that. The thing that made life unbearable was that the story didn't just make the buzz of the cafeteria; it also made its rounds in the teaching lounge. What does that mean? Well first it means getting ridiculously suspicious glances if I so much as peeked in Butters direction during classes. But the real clincher was that the teaching body was alerted to another 'class couple,' to keep an eye on. It became next to impossible to sneak in any physical affection on school grounds, not even holding hands in the hallway or under the cafeteria table. Even my morning hugs, which had been a staple of school mornings for almost two and a half years at this point, were now interrupted by a quick cough or harrumph from whichever teacher had drawn hall monitor duty that day. The teaching staff was having absolutely none of it. Mind you, the dreaded _Public Display of Affection_ is taboo in public schools, but South Park educators go above and beyond the call of duty when it comes to preventing dating couples from pulling them off. The PTA had never quite recovered from the terrifying storm of lawsuits that followed the Sexual Harassment Panda disaster.

There was only thing worse than trying to be romantic in school and that was trying to be romantic out-of-school. Dating in South Park was more frustrating than Jimmy singing 'Twelve Days of Christmas.' You see, you can't really get privacy in South Park. You can't take three steps into a restaurant, movie theater, or even a _fucking_ burger joint without running into at least five people who know you or your date and feel it's absolutely imperative to talk to you. Being one of those 'infamous' McCormicks and a member of the fearsome foursome, I was used to some degree of notoriety. I have all sorts of tricks for dealing with it. Just by slumping my shoulders and dipping my head I can sneak through a crowd with ease and by twelve I'd already mastered giving off the 'surly teenager vibe' that let adults and friends alike know when I don't want company. Other than the company I'd brought with me that is. Butters on the other hand is one of those people that doesn't do inconspicuous well. It's hard not to notice the happiest guy in the world as he almost skips down the sidewalk or through a room. Worse the kid oozes, 'please sit and talk to me' worse than a lonely old lady on a park bench. Still a few glares or pleading looks got most of our friends to eventually leave and give us time alone when we were out.

But just like at school, the kids weren't the real problem. What I couldn't escape was the remarkable network of adults directly or indirectly curious about Butters, or perhaps more accurately, curious about Linda and Stephen Stotch. Within minutes of arriving anywhere, some ticket-taker or cashier would look up with a start and immediately engage _MY_ boyfriend with a flurry of questions about how his family was doing. All of which Butters answered politely and far too completely. Screw Kevin Bacon and his six degrees of separation. In South Park you only need three degrees at the most before you bump into one of the Stotches. Everyone was a friend of an aunt, or coworker to a cousin of Butters. And for as well-known and liked as the god-damned-Stotch parents seemed to be about town, absolutely no-one ever seemed to have any clue what the two of them were up to. At least they had no clue before they began playing 20-god-damned-questions with Butters, who was more than happy to help fill them in.

I had a horrifying glimpse of how annoying that trend could be on our very first date. Well our first _official_ date. Butters continued to believe that the drive-in had been completely spontaneous and I wasn't going to burst his happy little bubble. Still that meant we needed a real first date and I decided after the cheesy movie thing, it wouldn't hurt to make his first date fancy. For a South Park kid that meant, Buca di Faggoncini. I figured I couldn't lose. Sure we'd have to endure the waiter garbling the menu, but I'd get good food, nice atmosphere, and an hour and a half of alone time with my boyfriend. No friends, no teachers, no giggling girls. An hour and a half of one-on-one, lowered voices, cheesy talk. Turns out I should have saved fifty bucks and just gone to Shaky's Pizza and shared him with our friends.

When it started out it seemed so promising, we got a private booth near the kitchen and I was happily reassuring my adorably nervous date that he hadn't overdressed. Granted, he had. Slacks, a dress shirt, and a powder blue tie are miles above the polo's or sweaters that everyone else, including myself, wore to Buca Di Faggoncini. But I had no problem with his choice; it was a charming seeing my boyfriend dressed up. A great boost for my ego to see how much effort he put into getting ready for our date. I was on cloud nine for the first three minutes of our date, then the waitress arrived. She was halfway through messing up the pronunciation of the restaurant in her required welcome speech when she did a double take at Butters.

"Oh my goodness. Little Leopold Stotch! Is that really you? You've grown up so much!"

It was the first time I heard those words on a date, but by and far not the last. Apparently she was the sister of Butters' mom's best friend. Or something else ridiculously random. For the next hour and a half, I had to grind my teeth silently as the waitress continually stopped by the table to ask Butters more questions about how his family was doing. To make matters worse the chef apparently used to be an old poker buddy of Mr. Stotch. Whenever she wasn't coming over to ask Butters questions for herself, she was passing messages for him to give his 'old man,' about whether or not he wanted to rejoin their card games. How can so many people like the Stotches?

I was ready to call the entire evening a failure by the time we left. The food was still good, but I had been far too irritated to enjoy it. As for the atmosphere, the music was drowned out by the babbling voice of our waitress. As I sat down in the car I realized with a very weary slump of the shoulders that the only satisfaction I was probably going to get the entire evening was thinking about the ridiculously small tip I'd left behind. Then I remembered the rules of first dates and perked up a little. Maybe it wouldn't be the only satisfaction. There was always the 'I had a nice night,' followed by post date lip mashing to go.

Sadly it was just my luck that we got out of the restaurant so late. _My luck and that __chatty waitress bitch. 2% was too much tip!_ By the time we reached his place Butters was a worried bundle of nerves, muttering about how his mom and dad would ground him for weeks for being home late. When we reached his driveway, I was turning to lean in with a devilish grin. All I got was a quick lean over and peck on my cheek before he bolted out the car door racing for the porch. I sat there staring at his back for about three seconds with my mouth hanging open. I knew it was nothing personal, he'd already told me a half dozen times what a great night he'd had on the way home, but that was the snapping point for me. Upset stomach from shoveling food angrily into my mouth, ok. Having to listen to the annoying bitch of a waitress monopolize Butters, tolerable. A tiny peck on the check for my goodnight kiss? _No fucking way_.

I hopped out my door with the engine still running and raced after him. I caught up to him as his hand hit the knob. Thinking fast I called his name to get him to stop. He turned at that sound and my hand snaked out, getting a very firm grip on that little powder blue tie of his. From there I reeled him back off of his porch. It was probably the first time I'd ever had a real use for the neck nooses that us guys have to wear to fancy events. Once I had him very firmly back in my personal space, I set about getting a real goodnight kiss.

It wasn't sweet or soft either, I had fifty-five dollars and almost two hours of pent up _what-the-fuck _to make up for after all. It was a very firm clash of lips when we collided. Not even satisfied with that, my free hand pulled his waist closer, even an inch was too much distance right now. Not when there were finally no teachers or parents to tell us no. In spite of how it started, I had a hard time remembering why I was so frustrated once his arms slipped around my neck and his lips pushed back against mine. There was a jarring moment where teeth clashed at one point, before I calmed down. Then I was beyond just forgetting frustration, it was to the point where my own name was slipping away in tiny bits with each shake of his body against mine. I'd almost forgotten it completely when he reminded me, moaning my name into my mouth when my tongue toyed with his. I don't think I've ever been happier to hear it either. Not when it was called out for winning a contest, not when I was getting praised for an A on a test, never did 'Kenny,' sound better than right then. When we broke apart I told myself I was only gasping for air from running to catch up with him. It certainly was not because kissing him made me forget a little thing like how to breathe. Then he leaned forward and rested his forehead in the space between my shoulder and neck and sighed softly. As the warm moist exhalation passed through my shirt and set the skin below aflame, once again my mind just stopped caring about a silly thing like oxygen. I held completely still, hoping that if I didn't move, didn't blink, didn't anything, time might follow suit and just stop right there. I would have been content to stay like that indefinitely, light headed from the dizzying rush of feelings, if some small grounded part of my brain pointed out the dizzy feeling _MIGHT_ not be romantically induced. Yes the warm feeling in my chest could be from being so happy...but it also might be the burning of carbon dioxide full lungs. Which would explain away the light headed sensation to for that matter. When I finally breathed again it was regretful, a heavy sigh of defeat to time and reality. I had to accept that fact that we had to step apart at some point. Getting Butters grounded wouldn't be the best ending to our first date. Catching some subtle hint from my sigh, Butters was already pulling away even as I finally released my grip on his tie. The cool air rushed to fill in the vacancy his body left when we parted a chill setting in everywhere except for that little spot where his sigh had brushed my skin.

My mind might be ready to part, but my body wasn't completely happy with the decision. Staging one last protest, my hand snaked out catching his chin softly as he was turning away. I didn't want to lose sight of his eyes when they were so liquid, so warm, so inviting. I leaned back in, offering a softer and faster kiss goodbye as explanation for the delay. I knew I should say something then. Something romantic or sweet about how much he was starting to mean to me, or how strong he made me feel when he leaned in, or how weak I felt when he walked away. Nothing seemed sufficient or right, nothing that could measure up or explain how I felt. Feeling as tongue tied as I had the first time we'd ever kissed, all I managed was a mumbled goodnight when I finally set him free. I leaned against the wooden column of his porch and watched him retreat inside, enjoying the little rush of satisfaction that strummed through my chest when he peeked over his shoulder to check if I was still looking at him. I got one last smile from him before the door closed quietly between us. Like everything else in my life nothing had gone right that evening. Still... as long as the evening ended on this porch and with me feeling like this, it was hard to care about how long or bumpy the road that led me here.

All in all the date wasn't what I'd hoped it'd be, but it wasn't a disaster either. I did get him home just ahead of his ridiculously short curfew. A curfew that had gone into affect the day after Butters had been returned from a drive-in with swollen lips and a cheerful smile, loudly announcing that he had a boyfriend. A cute but very dumb move on his part_._

Butters was a really sweet guy, but even his overprotective boyfriend can admit he's not always the sharpest tool in the shed. Anyone in our school, even Timmy, could have told him that outing himself at home wasn't exactly a smart move. Our wheelchair bound classmate would have undoubtedly offered one of his under-appreciated pearls of wisdom such as "Timmeh! Tim?…Tim-Tim…Tah…Timmah!"

Which of course meant, "For the love of god don't tell your parents you're gay! Or have you forgotten what they put you through when they thought you were bi-curious? Wait it out at least till you're safely away in college and eighteen, or in their case maybe 22. No…30." If you know what he's saying, Timmy can be pretty damn smart.

Of course explaining that to Butters was messy territory and the source of the only thing we ever argued over. I tried only once to really get Butters to see some reason. Only once, because that conversation had been all that it would take to see that the task was more hopeless than trying to get Kyle and Cartman to sit quietly through a Mel Gibson movie together. The conversation was across a phone as it was past Butters curfew and my presence was now all but forbidden at the Stotch house. I admit I was a bit sulky and fed up when I thought it'd be a good idea to tell Butters his parents hated that we were dating. In my defense we were two months in and I was already tired of fending off the constant obstacles his parents put in the way of me getting to see him. Still I should have known better than try to broach the topic with Butters. The entire thing was more painful than pulling teeth, at least on my end.

"K-ken! H-how could you think my parents aren't happy for me? Sure they had a l-little trouble with me an' L-lexus, but gosh, I think we've all grown up a lot since then. They're bein' awfully adult about it now, sayin' I can do whatever I want, whenever I want!" Butters voice had started reproachful and shocked before turning soothing.

"Whenever you want? They gave you a curfew right after you told them we were dating. How could you not see that as them reacting badly?" I was proud of my ability to state that calmly, or as calmly as I could manage. Sure my voice rose a little by the end of it, but at least I managed to keep the 'duh,' under my breath. _That should count for something._

"The curfew? Is that was this is about? Like I told you before, mom heard on the news about how the terror alert had jumped to um…was it mauve? Maybe paisley? Whatever color it was, it was pretty serious! And dad says terrorist always love to come out once it's dark. They just want ta be sure I'm safe. That's all!"

I was far less successful at stifling my groan than my 'duh.' Thank god my cell-phone was so shitty that Butters didn't hear it. Not wanting to derail the entire conversation into an argument about how terrorists could give two flying fucks about South Park and weren't nocturnal for that matter, I switched tactics. "Fine but how about when they told you I wasn't allowed over anymore?"

Butters blushed so badly I could tell he was doing it through the phone. Not like I could hear the blood rushing to his face, but in the silence I could tell he was biting his lip and turning red. I just knew he was doing that cute thing where his face scrunches and his knuckles start to head towards each other. Normally that would have improved my mood instantly. I always enjoy making him blush…it's one of traits of his I can't get enough of. Unfortunately I had to stay focused right now so instead of enjoying his momentary discomfort I was silently urging him to continue.

"Well dad says it's awfully inappropriate to have you over without supervision," Butters finally offered to explain his embarrassment.

_Awfully inappropriate? If you're blushing I'm sure those aren't the words he used._ Feeling a little offended at what Mr. Stotch had implied I wanted to do, no matter how true it was, I forgot to watch my language.

"Bull Butters! They say I'm not even allowed over when they are home," I regretted my choice of words as soon as they left my mouth. Bull wasn't exactly swearing, but used angrily in reference to his parents it would get him defensive. I didn't want to end up being the bad guy in this conversation. I wanted him to see that they were the bad guys! _It's just so damn frustrating!_ Between paranoid teachers, restrictive parents, and work, I was seeing less of Butters in the past two months of 'dating' than when we were just friends. _Hell I probably saw more of him back when we were just classmates in grade school._

There was a hint of sternness in Butters' reply, a warning that I was getting close to that 'bad guy,' line. He wasn't angry, god knows the kid couldn't pull off angry, but he adopted that mock adult voice he takes when he has to give someone a 'lecturin' for their own good, on account of them bein' silly.'

"Ken you're imag-ah-nin' things! I already asked dad if you could come over when they were around, an' maybe have dinner at our house or somethin'. He says a parent shouldn't get involved in their son's relationship until it's lasted long enough for it to be serious. Then we can have a big dinner an' you can formally meet the them all over again!"

That idea was enough to take the edge off my temper with the first pleasant news I'd received all day. I was stunned speechless with relief at having narrowly missed what surely would have been the most horrible dinner of my young life. And that included thanksgiving dinners where I had to fight with my brothers for a share of cold creamed corn. Just the idea of sitting at the same dinner table with Linda and Stephen Stotch. I could just see Butters innocently chattering away while the other three people at the table poked at food and tried to avoid all eye contact. The relief was blasted away with shock when Butters returned to his normal optimistic tone and continued reassuring me about how happy his parents were that he was dating a boy. And a McCormick boy at that.

"Obviously they've thought about this lots! An' if they're willin' to be so supportive, it's silly for you to be worryin' your head over it. If they weren't ok with it they'd probably wanna talk to you lots about how to behave an'… an' they wouldn't let us go on dates an' stuff!! Instead they are doin' their best to not get involved in our relationship."

"They don't get involved in our relationship?!" my voice was so thick with disbelief a deaf man would have winced. Butters of course missed it completely.

"Yup, totally lettin' me make my own decisions! An' they only tell me when I have ta be home. An' what places aren't safe ta go out to. An' how often I can go out. An' if I'm grounded from goin' out." By the end of that statement a normal person would have trailed off sheepishly as they realized how obviously wrong they were. Butters ended it as full of cheerful conviction as he'd started.

"And that's ok with you?" resignation filled my reply. I didn't bother waiting for his answer to get discouraged; the question was almost rhetorical. Of course it was ok with Butters; everything was ok with Butters except outright cruelty and unfairness. And when the target was himself, Butters was as ridiculously blind to justice as the statues outside courthouses.

"Well of course that's ok. They're my parents! They're supposed ta worry about me bein' safe, it's their job. And if I went out too much it might affect my grades!"

The response was everything I had not been wanting to hear. _Grades! Right! Like he's ever gotten less than an A in High School. Not with the fear of being grounded for only being 'above average' hanging over his head. _Not that I wasn't grateful Butters was studious. It made him the perfect tutor. Seeing as I got to choose rewards like a kiss for every right answer, he'd have been the perfect tutor even if he was dumber than Cartman. But it helped that I ended our study session both with both a very flustered and tousled looking boyfriend and better scores on my tests. And if he really was a lazy student, he might not get all his homework done so early everyday. If that was the case I'm sure his parents would have just loved to use that as an excuse to prevent me from calling when I got home from another late night of work. That was the scariest thing I could think of. This hour of phone time before bed was precious; it was as close as we got to 'alone time' most days. _And here I am wasting today's phone call on an argument I'm not going to win. Not against opponents as formidable as the Stotches_.

On cue with that thought, life took another unpleasant turn as the phone line was interrupted by a loud click and several loud beeps. I had to hold the phone as far from my head as I could during the glaringly loud beeps, returning it to my ear in a hurry when they finally stopped. For a moment I freaked out, worried my phone had died. Who knows how many days I'd have to go without night calls if my cell was busted.

"Owwww, that was loud. Really loud. Did you accidentally dial someone Ken?"

I exhaled a short sigh of relief and let go a silent prayer of thanks. Then I took it back seconds later when I drew my breath back in through clenched teeth as the voice of Stephen Stotch came on the phone.

"Butters? Are you still on the phone?" Stephen's voice held that no nonsense-answer-me tone an adult usually saves for a misbehaving four year old, not a fifteen year old in High School.

"Yes sir," the response might as well have come from a four year old for the level of guilt Butters had in his voice.

"I thought we agreed you'd stop tying up the phone so much this late at night, young man. Your mother and I have very important calls to make and we can't keep putting our work off every night so you can stay on for hours at a time."

_Important business calls? At Ten p.m.!? Are you doing work for a company overseas now?_ With more restraint than should be expected from a teenager, I managed to bite my tongue and let Butters handle it.

"Sorry, dad. I know I said I'd wouldn't stay on late, but we didn't even start talking till a short bit ago, an' I lost track of the time. I promise I didn't hear anyone try to call in!"

"How do I know I can trust you? What if you weren't paying attention to the phone anymore than the time. Who knows what we might have missed? Maybe you should just stay home tomorrow instead of going to watch movies with your friends? I bet that'd help you remember to watch the clock next time!"

I couldn't take anymore of it. Butters was clearly not handling it and I didn't pull four late shifts this week for a day off, to just spend it moping with Stan and Kyle. I did one of those stupid, stupid things boyfriends should never do. I stepped into what should stay a strictly father-son argument. But I couldn't stay out…this wasn't an argument to me, it was bullying.

"Um, it was my fault, Mr. Stotch. I got home from work late. He warned me he didn't have much time, but I kinda begged him not to hang up just yet. I had a really, really bad day and needed some extra time to talk." This was of course a complete lie. The day had been just fine, until this phone conversation that is. And Butters had made no mention of his parents starting a phone curfew yet or I'd have been even more upset than our talk had already made me. Luckily for me, Mr. Stotch had very little experience with talented liars. Or kids interrupting and speaking back to him. That was probably the Stotches one disadvantage in this whole situation. They were very used to getting their way so it was easy to throw them off balance. The one drawback to having an easily bossed around son, I suppose.

"Well...I guess that'd it'd be silly to ground him for this then. And I suppose I can't ground you...?" the words weren't said with much conviction. Clearly the idea that it was 'silly to ground Butters,' was very foreign to the man. Even funnier, that last part was said questioningly, as if he was almost asking himself if he could ground me.

_Try it asshole. I'd love to see you sit my dad down for a talk about parenting and grounding. _Visions of my easily insulted father throwing a drunken punch at Mr. Stotch helped me maintain some control on my temper. I think it'd be the one time in my life I'd be proud of my dad. Might even make sure he had a little extra to drink that day if I had some warning it was coming.

"But Ken! That's not what we were just talkin'," Butters started to protest, his insistence on honesty about to lose the break my excuse had just earned. I panicked. There was a good chance he'd probably tell Mr. Stotch just what we had been talking about, innocently babbling my suspicions about Linda and Stephen. Thinking as quickly as I could, I went with the first thing I could think of to both shut Butters up and get Mr. Stotch off the phone.

"Buttercup," I tossed the name out with as much flirtation as I dared to use in front of my boyfriend's dad. It was a thousand times worse than the sudden hush in the cafeteria where everyone heard me use that nickname. "I don't think your dad wants hear about the kind of things we were talking about. That's stuff was kind of intimate don't you think?" It was a lot harder than I thought to sound seductive and flirtatious with his dad listening. I wasn't sure if I wanted to laugh or curl up in a hole and die from shame.

My suffering aside, the move was brilliant. Butters completely missed the dirtier implications, rightly assuming I just meant I'd be embarrassed if Stephen knew I thought he hated me. Much more importantly was Mr. Stotches reaction. He caught my meaning perfectly. I could tell the man was turning beat red and staring at the phone in his hand with his mouth hanging open. He was either choking or gagging and the oddest thought popped into my head. _Apparently blushing so badly it was noticeable through the phone is an inheritable trait._

"Well, I uh…I…should go," Mr. Stotch began. An awkward cough came through the speaker before the man finished, "You should still get off soon son," the second he said it Mr. Stotch realized his verbal error and tapered off weakly. I had to bite my tongue to hold back a laug.

"Yes sir, I'll get off as soon as I have a moment alone with Kenny. To say goodnight." Butters replied as innocent and clueless as ever. This time I lost the battle against the laughter, barely covering the receiver on my cell in time.

With a voice weak from embarrassment and discomfort Mr. Stotch finished lamely, "That's….good. Um, let me know when you're done. So I can use the phone for…uh…work…and stuff." The click that followed was so welcome, I ignored the fact that the man hadn't bothered faking the politeness of saying goodnight to me before hanging up.

Not that I could have said something about it anyway, not while I was still trying to control the almost manic chuckles bubbling up from my stomach. I knew it wasn't funny. Well ok, it was a little funny, but not _that_ funny. But this wasn't regular laughing; it was that psychotic needing to laugh harder than necessary moments. I was in the middle of one of those episodes of insanity that your mind inflicts on you when you're not sure if you should cry or be happy or scream. Sure I was fucked. Apparently there was a curfew on phone calls now, I had just ensured that my boyfriend's parents thought I was a pervert on top of everything else and Butters was probably never going to realize he should stand up against his parents. But damn it if I didn't' have the cutest, most clueless boyfriend in the world. One that I just made sure I'd get to spend tomorrow cuddling up against during movies. Probably while I was retelling this story to Stan and Kyle. They at least would get a small chuckle out of it, all while Butters looked at the three of us and demanded to know what was so funny. Which would only make us laugh harder. Life could suck at times, but it just didn't seem worth it to let the bad ruin my enjoyment of what precious little good I could scrape up. Especially one of those priceless, perfect 'Butters moments.'

"Well, goodnight Ken. I'll see you tomorrow at Stan's house." Butters chirped after the click of his father's hang up.

"Yeah, I'll…" I coughed to hold back another chuckle, "I'll see you to-m-morrow."

Soon as the cellphone snapped shut, I leaned my head back against the peeling walls of my room and just let all the restrained laughter out. I slumped my shoulders and felt my body unwind. At least it was providing a much needed outlet for the tension and aggravation that had been building up from two months of near constant romantic frustration. I laughed at Butters, at the Stotches, at myself, at just how ridiculous the entire screwed up situation was. By the time I fell-asleep my stomach was aching from the exertion. Not that a little thing like stomach pain could keep me awake. This was nothing compared to the usual growls of hunger I dealt with.

The last thing I remember as my eyelids grew heavy was the manic expression finally fading. My jaw almost hurt when the strained grin turned into the gentler curve of a contented smile. But I had a good reason to be at peace, sleep was one of the few times when things worked out for me. For all their controlling ways, the Stotches hadn't figured out a way to keep Butters grounded from my dreams.


End file.
